“M. le Moyne,” he said at last, “I need not tell you that you have been setting the law at defiance in all this, and that however I may respect you as a man of honor, as lieutenant of police there is only one course open to me, and that is to punish you. A father or legal guardian has an absolute and unquestioned right to dispose of a girl’s hand in marriage. There are only two conditions under which this right can be called into question. One is when there is some legal impediment which would prevent the marriage and which is being concealed. The other is when the proposed marriage is in the nature of a conspiracy, for the purpose of defrauding the girl in some way, or of doing her some other wrong.” “Ah, Monsieur,” I cried, “if you could but see this creature, this Briquet! He is hideous, horrible! It seems to me that it is wrong enough that any girl should be compelled to marry him and live with such a monster.” D’Argenson laughed bitterly. “I have seen him, M. le Moyne,” he said. “It was he who came here to make complaint against you on behalf of M. Ribaut. I confess he is not lovely, but you could scarce expect me to take action on that ground, else I should be pronouncing a decree against my own countenance.” “But there is a difference, M. le Comte!” I cried, and I wondered that I had ever thought him repulsive. “Mere irregularity of features, or even disfigurement, does not constitute ugliness. No countenance is offensive, Monsieur, which is lighted by kindly eyes and a smiling mouth. It is not so with Briquet. One shrinks from him instinctively as from a snake.” D’Argenson did not answer, but sat musing deeply. At last he raised his head. “M. le Moyne,” he said, his eyes full on mine, “tell me truly why you came to Paris. It was not merely to seek your fortune?” His eyes seemed to be reading my very heart. I had no thought of telling aught but the truth. So the truth I told, just as I had told Nanette, only more briefly--the attack on my sister and my killing of the libertine who had ordered it. Neither this time did M. le Comte interrupt me, but sat listening quietly, only looking at me with those eyes there was no denying. He was smiling when I ended, and I took courage. “You have strong hearts, you le Moynes, men and women,” he said. “Some rumor of this affair hath reached Paris, only in another guise. It was that M. Philippe de Nizan and two attendants had been set upon by a gang of outlaws, and de Nizan and one of his men killed. The other, who escaped, told a pretty story of the fight, doubtless to save his own reputation. But I knew he was lying, for private advices from Marsan tell me that not a jewel nor pistole had been stolen. Only one of the horses was missing.” “I rode it away, as I told you, M. le Comte,” I protested earnestly. “It has been sent back from Tours and should be at Marsan by this time awaiting its owner. That will prove the truth of my story, Monsieur.”