“That will do, Briquet,” he said to the sentry after a moment, and stood looking at me until the sound of his footsteps died away down the corridor. I could see that he was searching me through and through, and no whit abashed, for I come of as good blood as any in Gascony, I gave him look for look. “So you have a message?” he asked at last. “Yes, Monsieur,” I answered, and as I looked into his face I saw that his eyes glittered under half-closed lids, that his nose arched like an eagle’s beak, and that the thick moustachio could not wholly conceal the cruel lines of the mouth. Verily, I thought, there seem to be few pleasant people in the household of M. le Comte de Cadillac. “And where is this message from?” he continued. “From Marsan, Monsieur.” “And you are?” “Paul de Marsan, Monsieur.” He looked at me yet a moment, his eyes glittering behind their veil of lashes like snakes in ambush. “Very well,” he said abruptly. “Give me this message. I will deliver it to M. le Comte.” And he held out his hand. “Impossible, Monsieur,” I answered. “I was instructed to deliver it only to M. le Comte himself.” Again he paused to look me up and down, and I saw the hot color of the south leap to his cheeks. “Perhaps you do not know that I am the Vicomte d’Aurilly,” he sneered at last. “I heard the sentry call you so, Monsieur,” I answered, bowing. I did not add that I thought it strange he should be in the household and seemingly so near the person of M. le Comte--for his estates lay far south on the border of the Pyrenees, and had always been reckoned more Spanish than French. “Come,” he cried roughly, “enough of this play! Give me the message. M. le Comte is ill and will see no one.” “Then I will wait till he is well again, Monsieur,” I said, as calmly as I could, and made for the door, head in air. But his voice arrested me. “Stop, you fool!” he cried. I turned upon him, all my blood in my face. “That is not the way one gentleman addresses another, Monsieur,” I said between my teeth. “I must ask Monsieur to apologize.” “Apologize!” he cried, purple with rage. “Upon my word, these Gascon paupers are insufferable!” But I could bear no more--no Marsan could endure an insult such as that--and I sprang upon him and struck him full in the mouth with my open hand. He had his poniard out in an instant and lunged at me,--which I thought a cowardly thing,--but I stepped back out of harm’s reach and whipped out my sword before he could strike a second time. He paused when he saw my point at his breast. “Now,” I said, “perhaps Monsieur will draw and fight like a gentleman, not like a blackguard.” I thought he would choke with rage. And at that instant an inner door opened and a man stepped through. He stopped in amazement as he saw our attitude. “What is this, d’Aurilly?” he demanded sternly. “A duel--and in M. le Comte’s ante-chamber? Surely you know his need of quiet!” D’Aurilly turned to the newcomer, his face working with passion.