"Who are you, to be standing there, Judik Kerbastiou?" demanded the steward angrily.
"I am Rohan de Kerival. Ask this man here if I am not his son. Three days ago the woman who was my mother died. She died a vagrant, in the forest. But, nigh upon thirty years ago, she was legally married to the young Marquis Tristran de Kerival. I am their child."
Alan glanced at the man he had cursed. A strange look had come into his ashy face.
"Her name?" was all Tristran the Silent said.
"Annora Brizeux."
"You have proofs?"
"I have all the proofs."
"You are only a peasant, I disown you. I know nothing of you or of the wanton that was your mother."
Without a word Judik strode forward and struck him full in the face. At that moment the miraculous happened. The Marquise, who had not stood erect for years, rose to her full height.
She, too, crossed the room.