"Let me go, you confounded thief," St. Genis cried, as soon as the unpleasant grip on his throat had momentarily relaxed, "you accursed spy . . . you . . ."
"Easy, easy, my young friend," said the other calmly; "you have called me a thief quite often enough to satisfy your rage: and further epithets might upset my temper."
"I will in a moment or two, as soon as I have made up my mind what I am going to do with you, my impetuous young friend—whether I shall truss you like a fowl and put you in charge of our worthy host, as guilty of assaulting one of his guests, or whether I shall do you some trifling injury to punish you for trying to do me a grave one."
"Right is on my side," said St. Genis doggedly. "I do not care what you do to me."
"Right is apparently on your side, my friend. I'll not deny it. Therefore, I still hesitate."
"Like a rogue and a vagabond at dead of night you attacked and robbed those who have never shown you anything but kindness."
"Until the hour when they turned me out of their house like a dishonest lacquey, without allowing me a word of explanation."
"Then this is your idea of vengeance, is it, Mr. Clyffurde?"
"Yes, M. de St. Genis, it is. But not quite in the manner that you suppose. I am going to set you free now in order to set your mind at rest. But let me warn you that I shall be just as much on the alert against another attack from you as ever I was before, and that I could ward off two or even three assailants with my left arm and knee as easily as I warded off one. It is a way we have in England."