"Faith! let him live. I forgive him. You will pay me
for my hurt by yielding me Felix."

Gervais looked at me. While we had worked side by side over Yeux-gris he
seemed to have forgotten that he was my enemy. But now all the old
suspicion and dislike came into his face again. However, he answered:

"Aye, you would have been the victor had it not been for Pontou. You
shall do what you like with your boy. I promise you that."

"Now that is well said, Gervais," returned Yeux-gris, rising, and
picking up his sword, which he sheathed. "That is very well said. For if
you did not feel like promising it, why, I should have to begin over
again with my left hand."

"Oh, I give you the boy," Gervais repeated rather sullenly, turning away
to pour himself some wine.

I could not but wonder at Yeux-gris, at his gaiety and his
steadfastness. He had hardly looked grave through the whole affair; he
had fought with a smile on his lips and had taken a cruel wound with a
laugh. Withal, he had been the constant champion of my innocence, even
to drawing his sword on his cousin for me. Now, with his bloody arm in
its sling, he was as debonair and careless as ever. I had been stupid
enough to imagine the big Gervais the leader of the two, and I found
myself mistaken. I dropped on my knee and kissed my saviour's hand in
all gratitude.

"Aha," said Yeux-gris, "what think you now of being my valet?"

Verily, I was hard pushed.

"Monsieur," I said, "I owe you much more than I can ever pay. If you
were any man's enemy but my duke's, I would serve you on my knees. But I
was born on the duke's land and I cannot be disloyal. You may kill me
yourself, if you like."

"No," he answered gravely, "that is not my metier."

Gervais laughed.

"Make me that offer, and I accept."

Yeux-gris turned to him with that little hauteur he assumed
occasionally.

"You are helpless, my cousin. You have passed your word."

"Aye. I leave him to you."

His sullen eyes told me it was no new-born tenderness for me that
prompted his surrender. Nor had I, truth to tell, any great faith in the
sacredness of his word. Yet I believed he would let me be. For it was
borne in upon me that, despite his passion and temper, he had no wish to
quarrel with Yeux-gris. Whether at bottom he loved him or in some way
dreaded him, I could not tell; but of this my fear-sharpened wits were
sure: he had no desire to press an open breach. He was honestly ashamed
of his henchman'