"Stop a bit, ma grande dame. You give yourself too many airs for me altogether."
Jeannette shook him off and at the same time dealt him a stinging slap in the face; then she took to her heels like a deer, with Paul in hot pursuit, in an ungovernable rage.
"Voulez vous slap me in the face, vous renarde? Vous serez taught different when I catch you!"
Just as he was about to lay hands on the fugitive, out sprang Wulfhere from the thicket, and seizing Paul by the throat, he well nigh shook the life out of him.
"You villain!" said Wulfhere. "You assault defenceless women, do you, you undersized little imp? I'll screw your neck round before I've done with you! It is well I was near, you wretch, you!"—the sentences and the shakings alternating with equal vigour, until poor Paul scarcely knew whether he was on his head or his heels. During this operation, Wulfhere was steadily backing him to the river's brink, which, having reached, he gathered him up and pitched him in, head foremost. Paul came floundering out again, like a half-drowned rat.
"There!" said Wulfhere, catching him again by the scruff of the neck; "you may thank your stars I haven't drowned you altogether. Now be off with you;" administering at the same time a hearty kick to the baser parts of Paul's anatomy, which considerably accelerated his retreat.
Paul was not slow to take advantage of this privilege, and he quickly put a safe distance between himself and the Saxon. Suddenly, however, it occurred to him that he was possessed of a sword. Whipping it out savagely he turned to make a tremendous lunge at the foe, when, oh horrors! he was just in time to see in the distance the long arm of the Saxon fondly entwining the slender waist of Jeannette, and the perky little face, all smiles and blushes, upturned to receive a spanking kiss from the "beast of a Saxon!"
"Le diable!!" he screamed with rage, whilst the veins of his face and neck were distended almost to bursting. Off he started in pursuit, sword in hand, and bent on executing summary vengeance on the perfidious pair. Just at that moment, however, the Saxon gave a backward glance over his shoulder, and this had the effect of bringing Paul to a stand instantly. No; he decided, upon second thoughts, that he would not slay them himself, but bring a troop down upon them promptly. So he turned again and rushed off towards the castle for reinforcements. But having time on the way to become fully sensible of the pickle he was in, and of the very inglorious part he had played in this encounter, he decided otherwise. Discretion would be the better part of valour; for if his comrades but set eyes on him in his present state, or heard the story of this exploit, his peace was gone for ever. So he decided, upon mature reflection, to say nothing about it for the present, but nurse his wrath for some more favourable opportunity of wreaking vengeance upon them both.