“Monsieur the Chevalier de la Darante, you are my prisoner,” said I.
He started, then recognized me. “Now, by the blood of man! now, by the blood of man!” he said, and paused, dumfounded.
“You forget me, monsieur?” asked I.
“Forget you, monsieur?” said he. “As soon forget the devil at mass! But I thought you dead by now, and—”
“If you are disappointed,” said I, “there is a way”; and I waved towards his men, then to Mr. Stevens and my own ambushed fellows.
He smiled an acid smile, and took a pinch of snuff. “It is not so fiery-edged as that,” he answered; “I can endure it.”
“You shall have time too for reverie,” answered I.
He looked puzzled. “What is’t you wish?” he asked.
“Your surrender first,” said I, “and then your company at breakfast.”
“The latter has meaning and compliment,” he responded, “the former is beyond me. What would you do with me?”