He still lay on his elbow, his cloak covering him, the little Marot in which he had been reading close to his hand.

But his quick black eyes, which looked the keener for the pallor and thinness of his face, roved ceaselessly over me, probed the darkness behind me, took note of everything.
'Enough to compel you, Monsieur,' I replied sternly; 'but that is not all.

There are thirty dragoons coming up the hill to secure you, and they will make you no such offer.

Surrender to me before they come, and give me your parole, and I will do all I can for your comfort.

Delay, and you must fall into their hands.