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
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.