"Do you doubt my courage, Monsieur?" asked the vicomte, his eyes cold
and brilliant with points of light.
"But September?"
"Come, Monsieur; you are playing the boy. You will admit that I
possess some courage. 'Twould be a fool's pastime to measure swords
when neither of us is certain that to-morrow will see our heads safe
upon our shoulders. I am not giving you a challenge. I am simply
warning you."
"Warning? You are kind. However, one would think that you are afraid
to die."
"I am. There is always something which makes life worth the living.
But it is not the fear of dying by the sword. My courage has never
been questioned. Neither has yours. But there is some doubt as
regards your temper and reason ability. Brave? To be sure you are.
At this very moment you would draw against one of the best blades in
France were I to permit you. But when it comes man to man, Monsieur,
you have to stand on your toes to look into my eyes. My arm is three
inches longer than yours; my weight is greater. I have three
considerable advantages over you. I simply do not desire your life; it
is necessary neither to my honor nor to my happiness."
"To desire and to accomplish are two different things, Monsieur."
"Not to me, Monsieur," grimly. "When my desire attacks an obstacle it
must give way or result in my death. I have had many desires and many
obstacles, and I am still living."
"But you may be killed abroad. That would disappoint me terribly."
"Monsieur de Saumaise, I have seen for some months that you have been
nourishing a secret antipathy to me. Be frank enough to explain why
our admiration is not mutual." The vicomte seated himself on a bench,
and threw his scabbard across his knees.
"Since you have put the question frankly I will answer frankly. For
some time I have distrusted you. What was to be your gain in joining
the conspiracy?"
"And yours?" quietly. "I think we both overlooked that part of the
contract. Proceed."
"Well, I distrust you at this moment, for I know not what your purpose
is to speak of affronts and refuse to let me give satisfaction. I
distrust and dislike you for the manner in which you approached the
Chevalier tonight. There was in your words a biting sarcasm and
contempt which, he in his trouble did not grasp. And let me tell you,
Monsieur, if you ever dare mention publicly the Chevalier's misfortune,
I shall not wait for you to draw your sword."
The vicomte swung about his scabbard and began lightly to tap the floor
with it. Here and there a cinder rose in dust. The vicomte's face was
grave and thoughtful. "You have rendered my simple words into a Greek
chorus. That is like you poets; you are super-sensitive; you
misconstrue commonplaces; you magnify the simple. I am truly sorry for
the Chevalier. Now there's a man. He is superb with the rapier, light
and quick as a cat; a daredevil, who had not his match in Paris. Free
with his money, a famous drinker, and never an enemy. Yes, I will
apologize for my bad taste in approaching him to-night. I should have
waited till morning."