“So be it,” said the man warmly. “I have half a kid hanging on a bush hard by, I'll go fetch it;” and he arose with a cheerful and obliging countenance, and was retiring.
Denys caught up his crossbow, and levelled it at his head. The man fell on his knees.
Denys lowered his weapon, and pointed him back to his place. He rose and went back slowly and unsteadily, like one disjointed; and sick at heart as the mouse, that the cat lets go a little way, and then darts and replaces.
“Sit down, friend,” said Denys grimly, in French.
The man obeyed finger and tone, though he knew not a word of French.
“Tell him the fire is not big enough for more than thee. He will take my meaning.”
This being communicated by Gerard, the man grinned; ever since Denys spoke he had seemed greatly relieved. “I wist not ye were strangers,” said he to Gerard.
Denys cut a piece of bear's ear, and offered it with grace to him he had just levelled crossbow at.
He took it calmly, and drew a piece of bread from his wallet, and divided it with the pair. Nay, more, he winked and thrust his hand into the heap of leaves he sat on (Gerard grasped his axe ready to brain him) and produced a leathern bottle holding full two gallons. He put it to his mouth, and drank their healths, then handed it to Gerard; he passed it untouched to Denys.
“Mort de ma vie!” cried the soldier, “it is Rhenish wine, and fit for the gullet of an archbishop. Here's to thee, thou prince of good fellows, wishing thee a short life and a merry one! Come, Gerard, sup! sup! Pshaw, never heed them, man! they heed not thee. Natheless, did I hang over such a skin of Rhenish as this, and three churls sat beneath a drinking it and offered me not a drop, I'd soon be down among them.”