The Chevalier answered with a repellent laugh. "Your economy does you

credit; you have sold me to a drunken corporal for ten pieces of

silver." With a swift movement he flung the silver into the vicomte's

upturned face.

The vicomte covered his face with his hands and sprang to his feet.

But no sound escaped him. When he withdrew his hands his lips were

bleeding and there were blue ridges on his cheeks and forehead.

Confusion. Priests and soldiers and adventurers gathered quickly

around. Du Puys took the Chevalier by the shoulders and pressed him

back from the table, while Brother Jacques threw his arms around the

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vicomte. Only the Chevalier and the victim of his rage were apparently

calm.

"Are you mad, Chevalier?" demanded Du Puys. "What the devil!"

"Be seated, Messieurs," said the vicomte, wiping his lips. "You are

all witnesses to this unprovoked assault. There can be but one result.

You shall die, Monsieur," to the Chevalier.

"It is possible." The Chevalier brushed aside Du Puys's hands and

tried to reach his sword.

"I will have one or the other of you shot, or both of you," roared Du

Puys. But his heart was not in his voice.

"That is a small matter," said the Chevalier.

"What is the meaning of all this?" cried Chaumonot.

"Tell him, Monsieur le Chevalier," laughed the vicomte; "tell him!"

The Chevalier was mute; but his chest heaved and his eyes glowed with a

terrible fury.

"Monsieur," continued the vicomte, "you and I will step outside. There

is moonlight."

"You will do nothing of the sort, Monsieur le Vicomte," said Brother

Jacques coolly.

"I will brook no interference from priests!" declared the vicomte. His

calm was gradually leaving him. But before he could prevent it,

Brother Jacques had whipped out the vicomte's rapier and had broken it

across his knee. "Curse you, you meddling Jesuit!" He wrenched loose

a hand and struck Brother Jacques violently in the face.

Brother Jacques caught the wrist. "He grows profane," he said blandly.

"Be quiet, Monsieur, or I will break your wrist so badly that you will

never be able to handle a sword again."

The vicomte in his rage struck out with the other hand, but the young

priest was too quick for him. Both the vicomte's wrists were

imprisoned as securely as though bauds of iron encircled them. He

struggled for a space, then became still.

"That is more sensible," Brother Jacques said smoothly.

"In Heaven's name, Paul," cried Victor, "what does this all mean?"

"It means, lad, that there are no more masks. That is all. I am

sorry, Messieurs, that Monsieur le Vicomte's sword has been broken.

Will one of you lend him one?"

"I place you both under arrest," declared Du Puys, emphatically.




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