"Pshaw, man! pshaw!" cried Chavigni, laughing: "Here's a cool-headed judge! Here's the calm placid Lafemas! Here's the Cardinal's gentle hangman, who can condemn his dearest friends to the torture with the same meek look that he puts on to say grace over a Beccafico, suddenly metamorphosed into a bully and a bravo in the wood of Mantes.--But hark ye, Sir Judge!" he added, in a prouder tone, tossing back the plumes of his hat, which before hung partly over his face, and fixing his full dark eye upon his companion, who still stood scowling upon him with ill-repressed passion--"Hark ye, Sir Judge! Use no such language towards me, if you seek not to try that same sharp axe you have so often ordered for others. Suffice it for you to know, in the present instance, that it was not the Cardinal's wish that the young man should be injured. _We_ do not desire blood, but when the necessity of the State requires it to be shed. Besides, man," and he gradually fell into his former jeering tone--"besides, in future, under your gentle guidance, and a touch or two of the _peine forte et dure_, this young nightingale may be taught to sing, and, in short, be forced to tell us all he knows. Now do you understand?" "I do, I do," replied Lafemas. "I thought that there was some deep, damnable wile that made you spare him; and as to the rest, I did not mean to offend you. But when a man condemns his own soul to serve you, you should not taunt him, for it is hard to bear." "Peace! peace!" cried Chavigni, in a sharp tone; "let me hear no more in this strain. Who raised you to what you are? We use you as you deserve; we pay you for your services; we despise you for your meanness; and as to your soul," he added with a sneer, "if you have any fears on that head--why you shall have absolution. Are you not our dog, who worries the game for us? We house and feed you, and you must take the lashes when it suits us to give them. Remember, Sir, that your life is in my hand! One word respecting the affair of Chalais mentioned to the Cardinal, brings your head to the block! And now let us see what is this blood you speak of?" So saying, he sprang from his horse, while Lafemas, as he had been depicted by his companion, hung his head like a cowed hound, and in sullen silence pointed out the blood, which had formed a little pool at the foot of the tree, and stained the ground in several places round about.