“Unfasten the door instantly, I say,” cried this personage, “or my men shall burst it open. Some one must be astir, for a light has just been extinguished.”
“I knew that cursed light had betrayed us,” groaned Hugues. “If the saints do not help us now, Bourbon will certainly be captured!”
Just then the creaking of a window on the upper floor was heard, and a voice, which Hugues recognised as that of the miller, called out, “Who are you, and what is the meaning of this disturbance?”
“I am the Seigneur Perot de Warthy,” returned the officer. “I am in quest of the traitor and rebel, Charles de Bourbon. I have tracked him to this neighbourhood, and shall search the house to see if he is concealed within it.”
“Mercy on us! what is to be done?” ejaculated Hugues.
“You must look for the Constable de Bourbon elsewhere,” replied Benoit, in a surly tone. “You won't find him here.”
“I am by no means sure of that,” rejoined Warthy. “Are you the miller?”
“I am Benoit, the miller, at your service.”
“Then listen to me, Maître Benoit,” continued Warthy, “and give heed to what I say. By harbouring Bourbon you incur the punishment of death, and if he is concealed within your house, and you do not at once deliver him up, I will hang you at your own threshold.”
“I have nothing to fear on that score,” returned the miller, resolutely.