Explore "The House of the Wolf" by Stanley J. Weyman on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There was a long silence. We stood glaring at him, and he smiled upon us -- as a cat smiles. Croisette told me afterwards that he could have died of mortification -- of shame and anger that we had been so outwitted. For myself I did not at once grasp the position. I did not understand. I could not disentangle myself in a moment from the belief in which I had entered the house -- that it was Louis de Pavannes' house. But I seemed vaguely to suspect that Bezers had swept him aside and taken his place. My first impulse therefore -- obeyed on the instant -- was to stride to the Vidame's side and grasp his arm. "What have you done? " I cried, my voice sounding hoarsely even in my own ears. "What have you done with M. de Pavannes? Answer me!"
He showed just a little more of his sharp white teeth as he looked down at my face -- a flushed and troubled face doubtless. "Nothing -- yet," he replied very mildly. And he shook me off.