“I was pressed beyond endurance, M. Letourge,” he said. “Look at this,” and he pointed to the mark of my hand still on his face. “A blow!” and Letourge looked at me wrathfully. “Who are you, Monsieur, that you dare strike the Vicomte d’Aurilly?” But my blood was up and my eyes were full on his. In my heart I knew that his eyes were honest eyes and his face an honest face, albeit a stern one. “A gentleman whom he had insulted, Monsieur,” I answered proudly. “We of Marsan permit that from no man.” But Letourge’s face had changed. He stood staring at me with starting eyes, as though not able to believe them. Then he pulled himself together and his face became like marble, lighted by two coals of fire. “You are a bold man, Monsieur,” he said at last, in a voice that chilled me, “to set foot in this house. Methinks you will never leave it with your breath in your body.” It was my turn to stare. “Is M. le Comte de Cadillac a second Pharaoh,” I asked, “that he should slay his messengers? Had I known that, I had made less haste from Marsan in his service.” Letourge had recovered his self-control, but I saw that his hands were trembling. “From Marsan?” he repeated. “And when came you from Marsan?” “An hour ago,” I answered. “And you have a message?” “Yes, Monsieur.” “You lie!” he cried. “You must think our memories marvellous short! M. le Comte does not slay messengers, but he hangs spies. Do you not already feel the rope about your neck?” I looked into his eyes and saw he was in earnest. What could the man mean? I realized that I had need to keep my wits about me. “Monsieur,” I said, with what calmness I could muster, “you have used words to me which you will some day regret. I am Paul de Marsan and no spy. We of Marsan have been liege to Cadillac for two hundred years and have always aided them to fight their battles. I come to warn M. le Comte of a great danger which threatens him, but seem to have fallen into a nest of madmen.” Letourge looked at me with working lips. “Think not your tongue can save your head,” he sneered. “You have come to the end of the journey. Will you lay down your sword, or shall I call in a dozen lacqueys to take it from you?” There was but one course for a gentleman to choose. I glanced desperately about the room. He and d’Aurilly stood between me and the door into the outer hall. There was only one other, the door through which he had entered. “Monsieur,” I cried, “I shall not lay down my sword until my hand is powerless to hold it!” With a cry of rage he sprang towards the hall to summon aid, while with one bound I was at the other door, and felt with joy that it yielded to my touch. As I slammed it shut behind me I saw that it had a bolt on the inner side, and shot it into place just as those without threw themselves against it. It could hold but a few moments at the most, and I cast my eyes about the room for some way of escape.