George, seeing no living soul, struck the hilt of his sword sharply against the door of the castle. He looked up at the sound of a little tremulous voice, and he saw at one of the windows a little old man with a long beard, who asked:
“Who are you!”
“George of Blanchelande.”
“And who do you want?”
“I have come to deliver Honey-Bee of Clarides whom you unjustly hold captive in your mole-hill, hideous little moles that you are!”
The dwarf disappeared and again George was left alone with Francoeur who said to him:
“Your lordship, possibly I may exaggerate if I remark that in your answer to the dwarf you have not quite exhausted all the persuasive powers of eloquence.”
Francoeur was afraid of nothing, but he was old; his heart like his head was polished by age, and he disliked to offend people.
As for George he stormed and clamoured at the top of his voice.
“Vile dwellers in the earth, moles, badgers, dormice, ferrets, and water-rats, open the door and I’ll cut off all your ears.”