“Liar! traitor! perjured blasphemer!” cried I, in an inexpressible rage, “look here, and here!” and I pointed out to the priest various lines in which my name legibly and frequently occurred. A change came over Montreuil’s face: he released my arm and staggered back against the wainscot; but recovering his composure instantaneously, he said, “I forgot, my son--I forgot--your name is mentioned, it is true, but with honourable eulogy, that is all.” “Bravo, honest Father!” cried I, losing my fury in admiring surprise at his address,--“bravo! However, if that be all, you can have no objection to allow me to read the lines in which my name occurs; your benevolence cannot refuse me such a gratification as the sight of your written panegyric!” “Count Devereux,” said the Abbe, sternly, while his dark face worked with suppressed passion, “this is trifling with me, and I warn you not to push my patience too far. I _will_ have that letter, or--” he ceased abruptly, and touched the hilt of his sword. “Dare you threaten me?” I said, and the natural fierceness of my own disposition, deepened by vague and strong suspicions of some treachery designed against me, spoke in the tones of my voice. “Dare I?” repeated Montreuil, sinking and sharpening his voice into a sort of inward screech. “Dare I!--ay, were your whole tribe arrayed against me. Give me the letter, or you will find me now and forever your most deadly foe; deadly--ay--deadly, deadly!” and he shook his clenched hand at me, with an expression of countenance so malignant and menacing that I drew back involuntarily, and laid my hand on my sword. The action seemed to give Montreuil a signal for which he had hitherto waited. “Draw then,” he said through his teeth, and unsheathed his rapier.