“I have no weapons, sir.”
“No, of course not. Boy, you cannot fight.”
“Why not, sir?”
“Because—because—” I was close to them, and they were speaking in a low tone; “because—” said my father again.
“Because you think I should be fighting against my father,” said Bigley sharply; “but I’m sure, sir, that it is not so.”
“How do I know that?” said my father.
Rap, rap, rap, came now at the door, and a voice with a decided French accent, a voice that sounded familiar to me, said:
“Ees any boady here?”
“There, sir, it is the French.”
“I don’t know that,” said my father. Then: “Stand fast, my lads.”