The look of dismay deepened visibly on the faces of the listening robbers as they heard this aged and solitary man talk so calmly of “coming to visit” one whose very name was the terror of the whole district. Surely this marvellous stranger, whom nothing could daunt, must be a saint—perhaps the great St. Denis of France himself!
But the words that acted so powerfully on the rest passed almost unnoticed by Croquart, who heard only the one word “Carcassonne.”
“Thou hast been in the town, then,” he cried, “and hast seen the strength of the defences and of the garrison? Hark ye, old mole; on one condition I give thee thy life. Aid us to take the town, and, once we are in it, thou shalt go free. Refuse, and thou diest!”
“I refuse,” said the old man, without a moment’s hesitation.
A quick gasp of terrified amazement hissed through the tomb-like silence, while Croquart stood for an instant literally dumb with fury.
“Ho, fellows!” he roared at last, “bind him to the nearest tree, and choose out your sharpest arrows!”
But, for the first time, his savage followers, instead of obeying, hung back with an audible murmur, and one or two slunk away outright.
“Cowards!” yelled the furious bandit. “Do ye call yourselves men, and let the prate of an old dotard scare ye all? I will bind him, then, if none else dare; and Satan himself shall not deliver him out of my hands!”
“But God may,” said the aged hero, simply.
“We shall see,” retorted Croquart, with a ferocious laugh. “I will shoot the first arrow at thee, and let God save thee if He can!”