The sturdy knave! A queer dignity sat upon him like that which is worn by a successful general who has risen from the ranks.
"Demand! H'm!" echoed the baron. "A strange word as addressed by you to me."
"Citizen! You are foolishly playing with the lives of all within your walls," Jean said, earnestly. "Do you think to terrify us by striking an attitude draped in the ragged frippery of your rank? A word from me, and a thousand scythes will cut your baron's robe to ribbons. Look around. The news is still spreading. The indignant people are rushing hitherward. If in your folly you delay too long, they may pass beyond control."
"Do you war with your thousand scythes against a bevy of innocent women?"
"No. We protect them when we can against the wickedness of the Touraine nobility."
The baron bit his lip. He was not gaining ground.
"Speak plainly. Tell me what you want."
"I demand the instant delivery to me of the three miscreants you are harbouring."
Some of the gentlemen who had crowded up the ladder to hear the colloquy began to shift uneasily and murmur. "The man is right," one whispered--"far more sensible than I expected."
But the baron had no intention of giving way--of bending before a rustic.