"Your skin, for we would flay you like a dog, curé; but no, your skin is not worth his head. Begone!"
"The slaughter will be terrible. Once more I beseech you to reflect."
Night had come on during the progress of this gloomy conference, which had been heard both within and without the tower. The Marquis de Lantenac listened in silence, letting the affair take its course; leaders sometimes exhibit this self-absorbed indifference, as a kind of prerogative of responsibility.
The Imânus raised his voice above that of Cimourdain, exclaiming:—
"You men who are about to attack us, we have declared our intentions. You have heard our offers; we shall make no change in them, and woe be unto you if you refuse them. But if you consent, we will give you back the three children whom we now hold, on condition that each one of us is allowed to depart in safety."
"You may all go free, save one," replied Cimourdain.
"Who is that?"
"Lantenac."
"Monseigneur! Deliver Monseigneur! Never!"
"We must have Lantenac."