I flushed uncomfortably. I tried to withdraw from his grasp. But the more I pulled, the more firmly I felt the pressure of his arm. At length the two of us reached the seat which I usually occupied. Here he let go. As I sat down he continued to stand before me. With his hand over his heart he bowed pretty much as he had done the night before. Then he straightened himself again and laid his palm upon my shoulder. “Here is what I call the makings of a man,” he said to the Count and André in tones like an orator. “Strong arms. Sturdy limbs.” He let his eye run the length of my body. “A great fighter some day—and a stubborn one. Is it not true, Henri?” I smiled a sour smile, for his mockery was all too clear. He was, to my discomfort, treating me like a baby. He took his seat next to me. Then he began to pile my platter high with meat and wheaten cakes and poured a noggin full of whey. I sat there like a log, boiling within and wishing him out of the way. “We’ll be great friends yet, won’t we, Henri?” he said in a soft sneering tone. “You know I was down to the armorer’s long before you were out of bed. My horse has gone lame. It’ll be three or four days before he’ll be well again. In the meantime I’m going to be your guest.” He stopped and drummed lightly on the table. “You’ll be glad of that, won’t you, Henri?” I went on eating. “I’ll be sorry,” said I, “—for the horse.” At that he turned to the Count and my brother, breaking out into a loud laugh, like a father whose child has said something unusually clever. “Henri and I are going into the woods today,” he went on in the same annoying voice. “After that we’ll pay a visit to the forge. I want to show him my horse.” Then he added slowly, “You can ride, can’t you, Henri?” “As well as any of them,” I answered and went on hurrying through my meal. De Marsac saw that I was nettled. He dared not drive his cajolery too far, for my brother was looking at him with half closed eyes, and the old Count had arched one brow gazing at me to see how I was standing his thrusts. At length our visitor turned his conversation to the older men. He chattered like a magpie. One story followed the other with flashes of wit between. The spirit of merriment which was in the air when I entered the room came back. I saw my chance. As quietly as I could I arose and slipped softly out of the door. With a feeling of relief I turned the corner of the house and was making down the gravel path when I heard a crunching of the stones behind me. I cast a glance over my shoulder. To my discomfort there was De Marsac coming quickly after me. He had his head thrown back and with his eyes towards the sky was whistling an air. “Ah,” he exclaimed when I turned, “you are going somewhere?” I stopped. “To the armorer’s,” I said shortly. Then in the hope that he would leave me to myself, “I have business there—of a private nature.”