It was only when the marquis was leaving the hall that the governor
noticed the basket-hilt of the old man's dueling sword. Its formidable
length disquieted his Excellency more than he would have liked to
confess.
It was early moonlight, and the parade ground was empty and ghostly.
The marquis glanced about. He discovered D'Hérouville leaning against
a cannon, contemplating the escarps and bastions of the citadel. The
marquis went forward, striking his heels soundly. D'Hérouville roused
himself and turned round.
"You are Monsieur le Comte d'Hérouville," began the marquis, abruptly.
"I am," peering into the marquis's face, and stepping back in surprise.
"You come, I believe, from an ancient and notable house."
"Almost as notable as yours, Monsieur le Marquis," bowing in his
wonder, though this wonder was not wholly free from suspicion.
"Almost, but not quite," added the marquis. "The House of Périgny was
established some hundred and fifty years before royalty gave you a
patent. Your grandsire and your father were brave men."
"So history writes it," his puzzlement still growing.
"I wish a few words with you in private."
"With me?"
"With you."
"I suppose his Excellency has summoned me here for this purpose. But I
am in a hurry. The night air is not good for me, it being heavy with
dews, and I am out of the hospital only this day."
The marquis's grim laugh was jarring.
"You laugh, Monsieur?" patiently.
"Yes. I am never in a hurry."
"What is it you wish to say?"
"It is a question. Why do you hate Monsieur le Comte, my son?"
"Monsieur le Comte?" with frank irony.
"In all that the name implies. Some man has, over De Leviston's
shoulder, called my son a son of . . . the left hand." The words
seemed to skin the marquis's lips.
"And you, Monsieur," banteringly, "did you not make him so?"
D'Hérouville began to understand.
"He is my lawful son."
"Ah! then you have gone to Parliament and had him legitimatized? That
is royal on your part, believe me."
"The son of my wife, Monsieur."
"Then, what the devil . . . !"
"And when Monsieur de Leviston accused my son of not knowing who his
mother was," continued the old man, coldly and evenly, which signified
a deadly wrath, "you laughed."
"Certainly I did not weep." D'Hérouville did not know the caliber of
the man he was speaking to. He merely expected that the marquis would
request him to apologize.
"My son has challenged you?" with the same unchanging quiet.
"He has; but I have this day advised him not to wear out his voice in
that direction, for certainly I shall not cross swords with him."
"You are very discreet," dryly.
"And I shall make no apologies."