“Yes, I do provoke you.” “Take the trouble to get over the wall; on the other side we shall be on neutral ground.” “What do I care!” “I do; I do not want to kill you in your own house.” “Very well!” said Monsoreau, climbing over. “Take care; pray do not hurt yourself, my dear count; those stones are loose,” said St. Luc. Then he also got over. CHAPTER LXV. HOW M. DE ST. LUC SHOWED M. DE MONSOREAU THE THRUST THAT THE KING HAD TAUGHT HIM. “Are you ready?” cried Monsoreau. “No; I have the sun in my eyes.” “Move then; I warn you I shall kill you.” “Shall you really? Well, man proposes, and God disposes. Look at that bed of poppies and dandelions.” “Well!” “Well, I mean to lay you there.” And he laughed as he drew his sword. Monsoreau began the combat furiously, but St. Luc parried his thrusts skilfully. “Pardieu! M. de Monsoreau,” said he, “you use your sword very well; you might kill any one but Bussy or me.” Monsoreau grew pale. “As for me,” continued St. Luc, “the king, who loves me, took the trouble to give me a great many lessons, and showed me, among other things, a thrust, which you shall see presently. I tell you, that you may have the pleasure of knowing you are killed by the king’s method; it is very flattering.” And then suddenly he rushed furiously on Monsoreau, who, half wild with rage as he was, parried five thrusts, but received the sixth full in his chest. “Ah!” said St. Luc, “you will fall just where I told you,” as Monsoreau sank down on the poppies. Then, wiping his sword, he stood quietly by, watching the changes which came over the face of the dying man. “Ah, you have killed me!” cried Monsoreau. “I intended to do so, but now I see you dying, devil take me if I am not sorry for what I have done. You are horribly jealous, it is true, but you were brave. Have you any last wish? If so, tell it to me; and, on the faith of a gentleman, it shall be executed. Are you thirsty? Shall I get you water?” Monsoreau did not reply. He turned over with his face to the earth, biting the ground, and struggling in his blood. Then he tried to raise his head, but fell back with a groan. “Come, he is dead; let me think no more about him. Ah! but that is not so easy, when you have killed a man.” And jumping back over the wall, he went to the château. The first person he saw was Diana talking to his wife. “How well she will look in black,” thought he. Then, approaching them, “Pardon me,” said he, “but may I say a few words to Jeanne?” “Do so; I will go to my father,” “What is it?” said Jeanne, when Diana was gone; “you look rather gloomy.” “Why, yes.” “What has happened?” “Oh, mon Dieu! an accident.” “To you?” “Not precisely to me, but to a person who was near me.” “Who was it?” “The person I was walking with.” “M. de Monsoreau?” “Alas! yes; poor dear man.” “What has happened to him?” “I believe he is dead.” “Dead!” cried Jeanne, starting back in horror. “Just so.” “He who was here just now talking----”