with a face on which, by the light of the fire, one could read contempt and decision.
"I thank God," said Zbyshko to him, "that He gave thee into my hands, for from me nothing threatens thee."
And he stretched his hand toward him with friendliness, but De Lorche did not move even.
"I will not give a hand to knights who have disgraced knightly honor, and who are fighting at the side of Saracens against Christians."
One of the Mazovians present interpreted these words, the meaning of which Zbyshko himself divined; so that at the first moment the blood boiled up in him as water in a caldron.
"Idiot!" shouted he, grasping, in spite of himself, the hilt of his misericordia.
But De Lorche reared his head.
"Kill me!" said he, "for I know that ye spare no prisoners."
"But do ye spare them?" exclaimed the Mazovian, unable to endure such words quietly. "Were ye not the men who hanged on the shore of the island all those whom ye captured in the battle before this? In return, Skirvoillo hangs your men."
"They were hanged," replied De Lorche, "but they were Pagans."
One might detect a certain shame in his answer, and it was not difficult to divine that in his soul he had no praise for such an action.
Meanwhile Zbyshko recovered himself, and said with calm dignity,—
"De Lorche, we received belts and spurs from the same hand; thou knowest me, therefore, and knowest that the honor of knighthood is dearer to me than life and happiness; so listen to what I will say under an oath on Saint George: Many of the people hanged were baptized long before yesterday, and those who are not Christians yet are stretching their hands to the Cross as to redemption; but knowest thou who hinder them, who keep them from redemption and baptism?"
The Mazovian interpreted Zbyshko's words in a minute, so De Lorche looked with inquiring glance at Zbyshko's face.
"The Germans."
"Impossible!" cried the Knight of Lorraine.
