And as I have guided you safely to it, surely I deserve this trifling boon." "Trifling, do you call it," interposed Sir Norman, "to let you make your escape, as you most assuredly will do the moment you are out of our sight! No, no; we are too old birds to be caught with such chaff; and though the informer always gets off scot-free, your services deserve no such boon; for we could have found our way without your help! On with you, Sir Robber; and if your companions do kill you, console yourself with the thought that they have only anticipated the executioner by a few days!" With a perfectly heart-rending groan, the unfortunate duke walked on; but when they reached the archway directly before the room, he came to an obstinate halt, and positively refused to go a step farther.

It was death, anyway, and he resisted with the courage of desperation, feeling he might as well die there as go in and be assassinated by his confederates, and not even the persuasive influence of Hubert's dagger could prevail on him to budge an inch farther.
"Stay, then!" said the count, with perfect indifference.

"And, soldiers, see that he does not escape! Now, Kingsley, let us just have a glimpse of what is going on within." Though the party had made considerable noise in advancing, and had spoken quite loudly in their little animated discussion with the duke, so great was the turmoil and confusion within, that it was not heeded, or even heard.

With very different feelings from those with which he had stood there last, Sir Norman stepped forward and stood beside the count, looking at the scene within.
The crimson court was in a state of "most admired disorder," and the confusion of tongues was equal to Babel.

No longer were they languidly promenading, or lolling in the cushioned chairs; but all seemed running to and fro in the wildest excitement, which the grandest duke among them seemed to share equally with the terrified white sylphs.