"Rash!" he repeated.

"I would like to know what he expects?
I would like to know----" A cry as of a wild beast cut short the word: a blow, a shriek of pain followed, the door flew open; as they rose to their feet in wonder, into the room fell a lad--it was Louis--a red weal across his face, his arm raised to protect his head.

Close on him, his eyes flaming, his cane quivering in the air, pressed Messer Blondel.

In their presence he aimed another blow at the lad: but the blow fell short, and before he could raise his stick a third time the astonished looks of the three in the room reminded him where he was, and in a measure sobered him.

But he was still unable to articulate: and the poor smarting wretch cowering behind the magistrates was not more deeply or more visibly moved.
"Steady, steady, Messer Blondel!" Fabri said.