"And you a fair and pleasant-featured youth, beside Roger de Laval—her husband. And now you are here doing penance at the shrines, at the Lady Theodora's shrine?"
"What I am doing in Rome does not concern you, my lord," Tristan interposed firmly. "I did not attend the Lady Theodora's feast of my own choice—"
"Nor were you in her pavilion of your own choice. Yet a pinch more of penance will set that right also."
"I take it, my lord, that I have satisfied your anxiety," Tristan replied, as he started to pass the other.
Laval caught him roughly by the shoulder.
"Not so fast," he cried. "I shall inform you when I have done with you—"
Tristan's face was white, as he peered into the mask of cunning that leered from the other's countenance. Perchance he would not have heeded the threat had it not been for his anxiety on Hellayne's account. He suspected that Laval knew more than he cared to tell.
"For the last time I ask, where is the Lady Hellayne?"
The Count's form rose towering above him, as he threw the words in Tristan's face.
"For the last time I tell you, my lord, I know not," Tristan replied, eye in eye. "Though I would gladly give my life to know."