We set out along the corridor, which was dimly lighted and echoed the sound of our footsteps in a gloomy manner. This was the time to test the dwarf, and to find out what he had to communicate to me.
“I have forgotten my sword,” I cried to him. “Will you fetch it?”
Without a moment’s hesitation the dwarf started back towards my room. I can see him yet, almost running in his quick, mincing steps, his half-bent arms dipping to the same time, and his ill-shaped head and flowing locks of white hair all bobbing together in unison. Yet for all this apparent haste he progressed no faster than an ordinary walk.
I let him proceed but a short distance when I made some excuse to the patroon and followed his henchman to my room. When I got there, Louis was already bending over my bed, where my sword lay. One arm was up and one heel slightly off the ground, as if he had suddenly been arrested in the midst of his capricious way of walking. I touched him on the shoulder and he collapsed with startled fear. Evidently he had not heard me approach.
“Louis,” I said, “that was a strange promise you made to me last night. What did you mean by it?”
Suddenly his whole figure was transformed. I saw this change often in the next few weeks, but then it was new to me and almost took my breath away. When Louis walked he seemed all joints and quivering elastic bands. Now, like a flash, he turned to stone—nay, to steel and iron. Every tremor of his body vanished. Every line in his face, the very droop of his hair made one feel as if the Gorgon’s head had been thrust before him. Then he gripped my hand, and I winced inwardly from the pain of it.
“Hush,” he whispered. “You can trust me. She is my mother. Hark! The patroon is coming back. Let me warn you hastily. There is distrust here. Do not start whatever you may hear down stairs. Beware, you are treading on a powder mine. Believe me. I am your friend. She is my mother. Let that suffice for reason.”
That moment the patroon returned. Louis began helping me to buckle on my sword. In a moment all his rigidity had disappeared and his old manner returned to him. I had no time then to think of the suspicion he had referred to, for the patroon led me down stairs to the dining room at once. As we traversed the corridor for the second time, I could hear Louis’ pattering steps behind us like a faithful dog; and in my mind’s eye I saw his wagging head and bent arms keeping time to his nimble step.
As I say, we went below, but had hardly entered the dining room when Mistress Miriam darted into it. She was bonneted, dressed in riding clothes, and her cheeks were flushed with exercise.
“Oh, father,” she cried passionately, “Monsieur Le Bourse is dead.”