To all this there was an air of confusion everywhere. A chair with the legs broken off lay in a corner. A great hole was worn in the bottom panels of the door that led to the kitchen where a dog had by slow degrees pawed his way through. Alongside of it, on the wall, the plaster had a large dent in it where something had struck and just beside it a red smear that reminded me of the color of human blood. You may be sure that we ate little. Even if the food had been savory the sight of the old fox of a landlord was enough to take our appetites away, for he hung over us like a sinister shadow with his nightcap in his hands and his beady eyes watching every morsel as it passed down our throats. “The Dwarf of Angers,” he reminded us, when we laid our spoons aside, “—he’s a grand man, isn’t he?” Then came that short cackling laugh that stabbed me like a knife. “He saved us from death,” I remarked. The old fellow gave a start as though he was suddenly clapped on the shoulder. “He did, did he?” he said. And then after a while, “And he sent you to me?” He cackled again as though he had reason to be highly flattered. “And by any chance did he give you a message?” Here I drew the dagger from my shirt and laid it on the table. “This!” said I. And, with the word, looked him square in the eye in hopeful anticipation. He pounced upon the weapon like a greedy child. He took it between his skinny fingers and turned it over and over. A crafty smile sharpened his features so that his face resembled a rat’s. With his thumb he examined the silver of the haft. He snapped the blade till it sang. “That dagger,” I said as though he needed some urging to entirely understand, “belongs to the Abbot of Chalonnes.” But his eyes were fastened like glue upon it, so that all the answer I got was a sort of mumbling. “Ay, ay,” he said, “—the Abbot of Chalonnes.” Then he looked up suddenly. His jaws stopped shaking and his smile faded. “Where do you come from?” he demanded with a jerk. I was getting weary of his dallying. I was sure that he knew more than he pretended. There was something at the back of his head that prompted him to doubt us, so with no more ado I burst forth, “Look here,” I began. “We are on our way to find the Black Prince. We have traveled a long distance and have been beset by enemies. We have been nearly killed half a dozen times. We’re in a strange country and need a word of advice. Maybe we ought to have a guide. Can’t you see that your friends are our friends?” I pointed to the dagger in his hands. “Isn’t that proof enough for you?” At the mention of the dagger his hands clasped together with a quick convulsive motion and his jaws took to wagging again. “Ay, ay,” he muttered, “it’s worth a hundred crowns, if it’s worth a groat.... It was fine of the Dwarf of Angers to send it to me.”