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He kicked the steward in the face two or three times, and Guiton, his countenance all blood, black in the moonlight, embraced the brigand's and wept. Presently Cazaio slowly drove his sword into the back of the prostrate man, who shrieked, "O Jesu!" and began to cough and choke. Five times Cazaio spitted the writhing thing, and afterward was Guiton's soul released from the tortured body.
"I will do nothing of the sort. Gaston, can give me the woman's body only. I shall accordingly buy me a lute." Achille Cazaio on the Taunenfels did not sleep that night....
"But the pose was magnificent," John Bulmer pleaded, "and I have a leaning that way when one loses nothing by it. Besides, I consider secret armor to be no more than a rational precaution in any country where the clergy are addicted to casual assassination." "It is human to err," the Friar replied, "and Cazaio would have given me a thousand crowns for your head.
So the commoners flocked to Cazaio in the Taunenfels until, little by little, he had gathered an army about him. And at Bellegarde, de Soyecourt had only a handful of men, Cazaio meditated to-night. And the woman was there, the woman whose eyes were blue and incurious, whose face was always scornful.
"In fact," said John Bulmer, hospitably, "up here the moonlight is as clear as day. We can settle our affair in five minutes." "I come," said Cazaio, and plunged into the entrance to the Constable's Tower. "The pistol! quick!" said Claire. "And for what, pray?" said John Bulmer. "So that from behind, as he lifts the trap-door, I may shoot him through the head.
Now let us get down to our affair." They crossed blades in the moonlight, Cazaio was in a disastrous condition; John Bulmer's tolerant acceptance of any meanness that a Cazaio might attempt, the vital shame of this new and baser failure before Claire's very eyes, had made of Cazaio a crazed beast.
Look you, we two and Michault, who formerly incited this carcass and, from what I know of him, is by this time occupying hell's hottest gridiron, were riding peacefully toward Beauseant. Then this lady pops out of nowhere, and Cazaio promptly expresses an extreme admiration for her person." "The rest," John Bulmer said, "I can imagine. Oh, believe me, I look forward to next Thursday!"
DUC DE PUYSANGE, a true Frenchman, a pert, railing fribble, but at bottom a man of parts. MARQUIS DE SOYECOURT, a brisk, conceited rake, and distant cousin to de Puysange. CAZAIO, captain of brigands. DOM MICHEL FREGOSE, a lewd, rascally friar. GUITON, steward to de Puysange. PAWSEY, Ormskirk's man. ACHON, a knave. MICHAULT, another knave.
But in unsettled times, you comprehend, the master of a beleaguered fortress is kept busy. Cazaio, I now learn, means to attack to-morrow, and I have been fortifying against him.
You have conquered, and the woman is yours. Yet lend me my life for a little till I may meet you more equitably. I will not fail you, I swear it I, Achille Cazaio." "Why, God bless my soul!" said John Bulmer, "do you imagine that I am forming a collection of vagrant females? Permit me, pray, to assist you to your horse.
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