“I shall make a fire,” he said. “The chill of the air has pierced me to the bone.”
I looked at his wounded arm.
“How did you get that, André?” I asked.
He laughed.
“We were attacked by knaves as we came along the road.”
The whine of the dog began again. Then like a chorus there arose a barking and yelping as though the whole pack of them had gone suddenly mad.
“There is someone in the yard,” muttered the old Count without raising his head. “I thought I heard the crunching of the gravel on the walk.”
With a kind of instinct I turned towards the window. I could not see clearly what it was, but there flashed across the pane what seemed to be the image of a man’s face. By the suddenness with which he moved away, it struck me that he must have been loitering there, peering in. My heart rose in my throat for I thought of the enemies who were lurking about the house.
I was on the verge of raising my hand to point and call out, when amid the sharp howling of the dogs there came a rapping on the panels of the door. Like a flash André sprang forward. Without a single weapon in case he was attacked he jerked the door open. The light of the candles shone dimly into the haze. For all that, I was able to see the figure of a man standing on the stone step. He was booted and spurred and clad from neck to heels in the long black cloak of a traveler. He wore a broad brimmed hat with a feather in it. When he saw the anxious expression on my brother’s face he smiled and touched his forehead like a salute. Then he bowed with the gravity of a courtier.
“May I come in out of the rain?” he asked.