I heard the latter bid us angrily to return.
But by this time Croisette was at the end of the corridor; and reassuring the fellow by a gesture I hurried on, until brought to a standstill by a man opening a door in my face.

He had heard our returning footsteps, and eyed me suspiciously; but gave way after a moment with a grunt of doubt I hastened on, reaching the door of the room in which we had supped in time to see something which filled me with grim astonishment; so much so that I stood rooted where I was, too proud at any rate to interfere.
Bezers was standing, the leering priest at his elbow.

And Croisette was stooping forward, his hands stretched out in an attitude of supplication.
"Nay, but M.le Vidame," the lad cried, as I stood, the door in my hand, "it were better to stab her at once than break her heart! Have pity on her! If you kill him, you kill her!" The Vidame was silent, seeming to glower on the boy.

The priest sneered.

"Hearts are soon mended--especially women's," he said.
"But not Kit's!" Croisette said passionately--otherwise ignoring him.
"Not Kit's! You do not know her, Vidame! Indeed you do not!" The remark was ill-timed.