'And whom I have sworn to run through the heart!' I exclaimed, laying my hand on my sword, and glad to find a legitimate object on which to pour out all my long pent-up wrath and bitterness. The Count sprang up, and was about to speak with all the fury becoming his character and the occasion; when the Prince exclaimed, 'Silence, gentlemen! The hand that dares to draw a sword in the palace of Lorraine, is forfeited to the public executioner. So be wary, I command you--be wise, and become friends.' 'Never, while I have breath!' said I. The Count smiled with a provoking expression of contempt, and gnawed his wiry cavalier moustache. Then he reseated himself, and after exchanging sinister glances with Pappenheim, continued restlessly to pluck and stroke his thick black lansquenet beard. 'M. le Prince,' said Pappenheim, rising proudly and coldly, 'desire your servants to leave the room; I have to make a communication which they, at least, must not hear.' 'Retire, messieurs,' said the Prince, to his valet, and to two pages, who withdrew, with faces expressive of disappointment. 'Comte de Bitche, draw the arras across the doors--so, thank you. I presume there are here no panels or partitions to which the ear can be applied?' 'None; but why all this provoking precaution?' asked the Prince, with considerable hauteur, for rumours of Pappenheim's approaching marriage with Marie Louise had caused the proud Imperialist to receive an adulation, respect, and flattery from the officers and courtiers of the ducal household, somewhat galling to the young heir of Lorraine, who viewed it with mingled jealousy and mistrust; 'M. le Comte, what the devil do you mean?' 'A jealous regard, Monseigneur le Prince, for the honour of your father's house, and of your sister, Mademoiselle of Lorraine.' 'Milles barbes! what do you say, Count Pappenheim?' asked Vaudemont, changing colour, while De Bitche gave me a covert and ferocious smile. 'I mean simply _this_,' replied Pappenheim (who was the Prince's senior by nearly ten years, and a taller man by at least half a head), as he came close to him, and spoke in a hoarse German accent, with his eyes sparkling, and a face flushed by anger; 'I mean, Prince of Vaudemont, that to spare this Scotsman's life is in you an act alike unwary and unwise.' 'Parbleu! you are mad.' 'I am not mad; but I know that death alone can make a secret sure.' 'A secret?' reiterated the Prince, with an air of perplexity. 'What secret, Count of Pappenheim?' I demanded, keeping my hand still on my sword. 'I am addressing the Prince of Vaudemont,' replied the Count, with exasperating hauteur, 'not you, monsieur.' 'To the point!' said the Prince, stamping his foot.