"Hold hard a bit. There are others who are getting as tired of his humours as yourself; and if you hear the clash of steel between us you need not be very much surprised, for my temper is none of the smoothest, and he may play the bully some day until nothing will settle it but cold steel."
When they reached the camp, Pierre alone carried the news to his master. No sooner, however, had he put his head within the tent than he gave a grunt of infinite disgust as he set eyes upon the Baron; for he was far gone in his cups.
"Hilloa, Pierre! What now, you scowling villain! What has brought you?" he bawled, with drunken incoherency; but, drunk as he was, he had noticed Pierre's disgust.
"We have executed your order, Baron," Pierre replied.
"Executed my order? Who? What have they done?"
"The commission you gave me about the Saxon lady down at the monastery."
"The wench that all the pother's about?"
"Yes, the same."
"Ah, I remember. Have you got her, Pierre?"
"Yes, as snug as anybody could wish. Not a whisper has got abroad."