Fred made no reply. He devoutly wished he was still riding along the dusty road far away from that house.
"You are a reporter!" shouted the man again and again, until his cries brought another into the room. Fred was satisfied at first sight of him that he had found Renard; but he realized at the same time that he had caught a Tartar. Renard said something in French to the first man, who refused in his rage to listen, but, shaking his fist at Fred, he roared again,
"You are a reporter!"
"Yes, I am," said the lad, rising to his feet. "And what about it?"
This boldness disconcerted the two men for a moment; and noticing this Fred ill advisedly determined to be even bolder. He became rash; for when the man asked, "What do you want here, then?" he said,
"I want to talk with that gentleman, there, Mr. Renard."
The two men became ashy pale at the mention of the name "Renard," and while one slammed the door which led into the hallway, the other rushed at Fred and seized him by the shoulder. The boy tried to resist at first, but when the second man, having turned the key in the lock, came to his partner's aid, Fred cried out that he would submit.
"We make too much noise here," said the man whom Fred had called Renard, as he glanced cautiously out of the window, still panting from his efforts to subdue the reporter.
"Take him up stairs," said the other, gruffly.
"I don't want to go up stairs," gasped Fred, for he, too, was out of breath. "I don't see what all the row is about, anyway. I am not here to do you fellows any harm. I came here to talk to Mr. Renard, if this is Mr. Renard; and if you have not got anything to say for publication, why, I am ready to go."