“Oh, in that case,” retorted Louis, “I shall know that you are afraid.” De Bercy was stung. “Very well, then,” he said, coming forward with a little laugh, “since you insist, I will tell you what came into my mind. It occurred to me—a foolish thought, no doubt, but how can one help one’s thoughts?—it occurred to me that you must find your cousin’s visit extremely . . . inconvenient . . . for the progress of your very pretty little idyll with . . . his charming bride that is to be.” The words, slow, gentle, and distinct, fell into the stillness with the effect of a stone dropped into quiet water. The Vicomte went as pale as death. “You will answer to me to-morrow morning for that lie,” he said, in a voice sufficiently steady to contrast oddly with his blazing eyes, and added, with the most concentrated venom and contempt: “You hound!” De Bercy’s hand went to the place where his hilt should have been, and as the dusky red mounted slowly to his cheek the strained silence broke into protest and intervention. CHAPTER VI SOME RESULTS OF EARLY RISING “Pendant qu’aux lueurs du matin La lame à la lame est croisée, Dans l’herbe humide et dans le thym Les grives boivent la rosée.” —VICTOR HUGO, _Duel en Juin_. It may be a truism, and therefore tiresome, that the night brings counsel, but of the instances of that truism the Marquis de Château-Foix was certainly one as he stood next morning outside his cousin’s door. A few hours of nocturnal reflection had wrought a considerable change in the mental attitude which had been his when he parted from the Vicomte, and a night’s rest had worked a greater still. He had resolved to return once more to the subject on which last night’s discussion had somewhat disastrously split. Proofs he had none, but there was no time even to bewail their absence, for whatever he could do must be done at once. Indeed, the sun was already high in a blue sky, and but for other business, and a belief, based on experience, that it would have found Louis still a-bed—more especially as it was Sunday—he would have paid him an earlier visit. The correctness of this surmise was attested by the lackey when the door at last swung open. Monsieur le Vicomte had not yet arisen, but if Monsieur were Monsieur le Marquis de Château-Foix, Monsieur le Vicomte would certainly receive him. The man still wore livery, though that badge of servitude had been legally abolished for a year or more. But Saint-Ermay’s servants were always devoted to him, for no reasons that were at all tangible. The bedroom door was opened by the valet whom Louis had had from a boy, and Gilbert went in.