"I—I thought you were dead, colonel," stammered the wretched old creature. "You lay so still that I—I felt your heart to find if it beat."
"Another lie, you old fool," mocked St. Udo. "What did you want with my private album? Answer me, sir."
The old man's speechless look of mock wonder at the album lying upon the ground, his thin, gray locks damp with perspiration, his abject terror and abject helplessness, all appealed to the haughty St. Udo's forbearance. He pushed him contemptuously away with his foot.
"Get up; you are merely a skulking villain. You are not worth my ire!" exclaimed St. Udo. "And mind that you never approach me again, on peril of your life."
"Don't—don't order me away. Let me stay near to watch—to save you!" whined the miserable Thoms.
"Confound safety! if I am to get it at the hands of a worm like you!" shouted St. Udo. "Why do you haunt me day and night? Why do you run upon my trail like a sleuth-hound? The next time I detect anything like this, by all the gods, I'll shoot you down!"
Away stole the trembling Thoms, and was met and stared at by the little chevalier, coming to have an early breakfast with his friend.
"Another raid into Thoms, mon ami?" questioned he, anxiously.
"Who is that devil?" cried St. Udo, passionately.
"Heaven knows! ma foi. I wish we did," quoth the chevalier.