The other gave him the cue for it.
"Come, man," he said briskly, resuming his ordinary voice; "you are keeping something. Tell out straight to one who knows you and Gruach also—does that surprise you? There are no friends of the house of Bourne here. What is it, what hast done?"
"Killed him," said Hyla shortly.
"Splendeur dex!" said the man in a fierce whisper. His face worked, his eyes became prominent, he trembled all over with excitement, like a hunting dog scenting a quarry while in the leash.
Then he burst out into a torrent of questions in French, the foreign words tumbling over each other in his eagerness.
Hyla knew nothing of what he said, for he had no French. Seeing his look of astonishment, the man recovered himself. "I forgot for a moment," he said, "who you were. Now thank God for this news! So, you have killed him! At last! At last! How and why? Say quickly."
Hyla told him in a few words all the story.
"And who are you, then?" he said, when he had done.
"I call myself Lisolè to the few that I meet in the fen. But agone I had another name. Come and see."
He took Hyla by the arm and led him into the cabin. It was a comfortable little shelter. A couch of skins ran down one side, and above it were shelves covered with pots, pans, tools, and fishing gear. A long yew-bow stood in one corner among a few spears. An arbalist lay upon a wooden chest. Light came into the place through a window covered with oiled sheep-skin stretched upon a sliding frame. In one corner was an iron fire-pan for use in winter, and a hollow shaft of wood above it went through the roof in a kind of chimney.