Pierre fell on his knees, and began to ask for pity again. “Get up, dog!” cried Melchior; and turning from him he began to untie the hideous deformity whose wild eyes were watching them in a frightened way.
“What are you going to do?” cried Dale. “You forget how strong he is.”
“No, herr, I remember; and I am going to make use of it; he is tamed now. Look here, Pierre, you and Mad Fritz will carry those crystals all down to Andregg’s.”
“Yes, Herr Melchior—yes,” cried Pierre abjectly.
“Stop! You can have the mule to help you, and for the next journey you can bring the donkey too.”
“Yes, Herr Melchior; but you will not let the English nobleman send me to prison,” he cried.
“We shall see. Get to work, both of you, and bring out the best. The herr will choose which.”
“Yes,” cried the man eagerly; and Melchior turned to Dale. “You will have a fair mule-load taken down to the chalet at once, herr, will you not?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good; and we can leave the others here, and send these two to fetch them.”