CHAPTER VIII.
It was M.Savary dit Detricand.
"Whew--what fools there are in the world! Pish, you silly apes!" the young man said, glancing through the open doorway again to where the connetable's men were dragging two vile-looking ruffians into the Vier Prison.
"What's happened, monsieur ?" said Ranulph, closing the door and bolting it.
"What was it, monsieur ?" asked Guida anxiously, for painful events had crowded too fast that morning.

Detricand was stanching the blood at his temple with the scarf from his neck.
"Get him some cordial, Guida--he's wounded!" said de Mauprat.
Detricand waved a hand almost impatiently, and dropped upon the veille, swinging a leg backwards and forwards.
"It's nothing, I protest--nothing whatever, and I'll have no cordial, not a drop.

A drink of water--a mouthful of that, if I must drink." Guida caught up a hanap of water from the dresser, and passed it to him.
Her fingers trembled a little.

His were steady enough as he took the hanap and drank off the water at a gulp.

Again she filled it and again he drank.