The Norman we have somewhat minutely described heretofore, now began to excuse himself and his fellows; and was proceeding to set forth that they had done all which came within their power and province to do, and was also engaged in stating, that no man could do more, when Chavigni interrupted him. "Silence!" cried he, with but little apparent respect for these lords of the forest, "I blame ye not for not doing more than ye could do; but how dare ye, mongrel bloodhounds, to disobey my strict commands? and when I bade ye abstain from injuring the youth, how is it ye have mangled him like a stag torn by the wolves?" The Norman turned with a look of subdued triumph towards him who had previously censured his forbearance. "Speak, speak, Le Blanc!" cried he; "answer Monseigneur.--Well," continued he, as the other drew back, "the truth is this, Sir Count: we were divided in opinion with respect to the best method of fulfilling your commands, so we called a council of war--" "A council of war!" repeated Chavigni, his lip curling into an ineffable sneer. "Well, proceed, proceed! You are a Norman, I presume--and braggart, I perceive.--Proceed, Sir, proceed!" Be it remarked, that by this time the influence of Chavigni's first appearance had greatly worn away from the mind of the Norman. The commanding dignity of the Statesman, though it still, in a degree, overawed, had lost the effect of novelty; and the bold heart of the freebooter began to reproach him for truckling to a being who was inferior to himself, according to his estimate of human dignities--an estimate formed not alone on personal courage, but also on personal strength. However, as we have said, he was, in some measure, overawed; and though he would have done much to prove his daring in the sight of his companions, his mind was not yet sufficiently wrought up to shake off all respect, and he answered boldly, but calmly, "Well, Sir Count, give me your patience, and you shall hear. But my story must be told my own way, or not at all. We called a council of war, then, where every man gave his opinion, and my voice was for shooting Monsieur de Blenau's horse as he rode by, and then taking advantage of the confusion among his lackeys, to seize upon his person, and carrying him into St. Herman's brake, which lies between Le Croix de bois and the river--You know where I mean, Monseigneur?" "No, truly," answered the Statesman; "but, as I guess, some deep part of the forest, where you could have searched him at your ease--The plan was a good one. Why went it not forward?"