“The first who passes that brazier and the body of that girl is a dead man.”
And he drew a long poniard from his cloak. At this moment Houmain, kneeling, turned the head of the girl. Her eyes were closed; he drew her toward the brazier, which lighted up her face.
“Ah, heavens!” cried Laubardemont, forgetting himself in his fright; “Jeanne again!”
“Be calm, my lo-lord,” said Houmain, trying to open the eyelids, which closed again, and to raise her head, which fell back again like wet linen; “be, be—calm! Do-n’t ex-cite yourself; she’s dead, decidedly.”
Jacques put his foot on the body as on a barrier, and, looking with a ferocious laugh in the face of Laubardemont, said to him in a low voice:
“Let me pass, and I will not compromise thee, courtier; I will not tell that she was thy niece, and that I am thy son.”
Laubardemont collected himself, looked at his men, who pressed around him with advanced carabines; and, signing them to retire a few steps, he answered in a very low voice:
“Give me the treaty, and thou shalt pass.”
“Here it is, in my girdle; touch it, and I will call you my father aloud. What will thy master say?”
“Give it me, and I will spare thy life.”