"I do not do my own dirty work," he said quietly, "nor stint my footmen of their sport, boy." "Very well!" I retorted.

And with the words I drew my sword, and sprang as quick as lightning to the curtain by which he had entered.
"Very well, we will kill you first!" I cried wrathfully, my eye on his eye, and every savage passion in my breast aroused, "and take our chance with the lackeys afterwards! Marie! Croisette!" I cried shrilly, "on him, lads!" But they did not answer! They did not move or draw.

For the moment indeed the man was in my power.

My wrist was raised, and I had my point at his breast, I could have run him through by a single thrust.
And I hated him.

Oh, how I hated him! But he did not stir.