Now this was disappointing. Andre-Louis had lent himself to this business with a very definite object in view. The slaying of Chabrillane had, as far as it went, been satisfactory. He had regarded that as a sort of acceptable hors d’oeuvre. But the three who had followed were no affair of his at all. He had met them with a certain amount of repugnance, and dealt with each as lightly as consideration of his own safety permitted. Was the baiting of him now to cease whilst the man at whom he aimed had not presented himself? In that case it would be necessary to force the pace! Out there under the awning a group of gentlemen stood in earnest talk. Scanning the group in a rapid glance, Andre-Louis perceived M. de La Tour d’Azyr amongst them. He tightened his lips. He must afford no provocation. It must be for them to fasten their quarrels upon him. Already the “Actes des Apotres” that morning had torn the mask from his face, and proclaimed him the fencing-master of the Rue du Hasard, successor to Bertrand des Amis. Hazardous as it had been hitherto for a man of his condition to engage in single combat it was rendered doubly so by this exposure, offered to the public as an aristocratic apologia. Still, matters could not be left where they were, or he should have had all his pains for nothing. Carefully looking away from that group of gentlemen, he raised his voice so that his words must carry to their ears. “It begins to look as if my fears of having to spend the remainder of my days in the Bois were idle.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught the stir his words created in that group. Its members had turned to look at him; but for the moment that was all. A little more was necessary. Pacing slowly along between his friends he resumed: “But is it not remarkable that the assassin of Lagron should make no move against Lagron’s successor? Or perhaps it is not remarkable. Perhaps there are good reasons. Perhaps the gentleman is prudent.” He had passed the group by now, and he left that last sentence of his to trail behind him, and after it sent laughter, insolent and provoking. He had not long to wait. Came a quick step behind him, and a hand falling upon his shoulder, spun him violently round. He was brought face to face with M. de La Tour d’Azyr, whose handsome countenance was calm and composed, but whose eyes reflected something of the sudden blaze of passion stirring in him. Behind him several members of the group were approaching more slowly. The others--like Andre-Louis’ two companions--remained at gaze. “You spoke of me, I think,” said the Marquis quietly. “I spoke of an assassin--yes. But to these my friends.” Andre-Louis’ manner was no less quiet, indeed the quieter of the two, for he was the more experienced actor. “You spoke loudly enough to be overheard,” said the Marquis, answering the insinuation that he had been eavesdropping. “Those who wish to overhear frequently contrive to do so.”