“By all means,” I answered. “You have another room?” I said, turning to the landlord.
“This way,” he replied, leading me, closely followed by Cornet Graham and the marquis, down a narrow, low-ceilinged passage.
“You have seen service yourself?” I said sharply.
“Aye, years ago,” he replied briefly. “I fought for the Swede.”
He stopped before a door upon the left, and with many apologies for his lack of space, ushered us into what proved to be the kitchen of the inn. It was a large room well stocked with articles pertaining to its character. Here a row of brightly polished pans, there a score of reeves of onions, while from a hook in one corner hung a well-cured ham.
Before a great fire of logs De Brito was sitting, a leather flask and tankard upon a table at his side, to the former of which I saw he had been paying liberal attention. He looked up as we entered.
“So you’ve come at last,” he said thickly. “Landlord, bring glasses for these gentlemen, and more brandy. What the devil!” he broke off suddenly, catching sight of my face. “Did the dove turn out to be a hawk, after all? Well, she has not marred your beauty!” and he laughed insolently.
But I could brook no more.
All the passion that was smouldering in my heart flashed into sudden flame.
“Curse you!” I cried, and I caught the tankard from the table and flung the contents in his face; then, drawing my sword, I placed myself on guard.