“Seest thou this poniard?” she asked. “When that door falls, this point enters my heart. There is nothing beyond that door, with thou, poltroon, to which death in this little chamber would not be preferable.”
As she spoke, she turned toward the man she was addressing, for the first time during all those weary, hideous hours removing her glance from the old hag. It was enough. Silently, but with the quickness of a tigress the old woman was upon her back, one claw-like paw grasping the wrist which held the dagger.
“Quick, My Lord!” she shrieked, “the bolts, quick.”
Instantly Peter of Colfax ran his arm through the tiny opening in the door and a second later four of his men rushed to the aid of the old woman.
Easily they wrested the dagger from Bertrade’s fingers, and at the Baron’s bidding, they dragged her to the great hall below.
As his retainers left the room at his command, Peter of Colfax strode back and forth upon the rushes which strewed the floor. Finally he stopped before the girl standing rigid in the center of the room.
“Hast come to thy senses yet, Bertrade de Montfort?” he asked angrily. “I have offered you your choice; to be the honored wife of Peter of Colfax, or, by force, his mistress. The good priest waits without, what be your answer now?”
“The same as it has been these past two days,” she replied with haughty scorn. “The same that it shall always be. I will be neither wife nor mistress to a coward; a hideous, abhorrent pig of a man. I would die, it seems, if I felt the touch of your hand upon me. You do not dare to touch me, you craven. I, the daughter of an earl, the niece of a king, wed to the warty toad, Peter of Colfax!”
“Hold, chit!” cried the Baron, livid with rage. “You have gone too far. Enough of this; and you love me not now, I shall learn you to love ere the sun rises.” And with a vile oath he grasped the girl roughly by the arm, and dragged her toward the little doorway at the side of the room.