Trevanion did not flinch as the Frenchman hissed these words at him. He thrust his hand into the breast pocket of his cloak.
"Aha!" laughed Delarousse. "You have a pistol? I have not. You would like to shoot me, but you dare not. I should like to shoot you, but I have no weapon, and, equally, if I had, I dare not. I will not hang for you: so you deal in this country with men that kill others, is it not so? But I tell you, Trevanion—that is a name I do not forget—I tell you that you shall not escape. It is not the time now, but there will come a day when you shall repent of having deceived and robbed the man who trusted you. Once more I tell you what you are: cheat, thief, scoundrel!"
"Pretty words, monsieur," said Trevanion with a sneer. "You had better take warning. This country is not safe for Frenchmen. You have escaped from prison, by some piece of imbecile folly——"
"Not so," interposed Delarousse. "It was by the skill of good friends, who are loyal to one that has done business loyally with them. They would have taken me to Roscoff in their lugger, and tried to dissuade me when I said that I should come here. But they helped me. One of them risked his neck to drive me here, and my true friends have guarded me. I came to assure myself that the man who called himself Robinson lives here in this village. I saw you from the carriage when you stood at your door; I learnt your real name, and now, once more I say it, I will wait my time, and you shall pay for your knavery."
"I care nothing for your threats. You have been lucky to escape once; you will not escape a second time. Set foot on this shore again and the whole country will rise at you. Expect no mercy from me."
"Mercy! From you! Mon Dieu, is it you that talk of mercy?"
He broke off, and let out a gust of harsh, sardonic laughter. Then, thrusting himself forward, he cried:
"Bah! I spit at you! When all men know you as I know you there will be no talk of mercy. Are you fool as well as villain? Go! Return to your fine house. Flourish on my money. It shall be for a season, and then!——"
Trevanion bit his lip. His expression told of a struggle for self-control. He glared at the Frenchman for a few moments; then, with a hollow laugh, he moved towards the door.
"Do your worst," he said, turning with his hand on the bolt. "I am in England; I defy you; and, by heaven! I promise you ten feet of English rope as a spy 'if you dare to show yourself here again."