“Call me a coward, I'll give thee my dagger's point, and send thee where Pierre sits o' fire for ever.
“Come, no quarrelling when work is afoot,” roared a tremendous diapason, “or I'll brain ye both with my fist, and send ye where we shall all go soon or late.”
“The Abbot,” whispered Denys gravely.
He felt the voice he had just heard could belong to no man but the colossus he had seen in passing through the kitchen. It made the place vibrate. The quarrelling continued some time, and then there was a dead silence.
“Look out, Gerard.”
“Ay. What will they do next?”
“We shall soon know.”
“Shall I wait for you, or cut down the first that opens the door?”
“Wait for me, lest we strike the same and waste a blow. Alas! we cannot afford that.”
Dead silence.