M. de Lesdiguieres exploded yet again. “Death of my life!” he cried. “Have you the effrontery to suggest that M. de La Tour d’Azyr should be hanged? Have you?” “But why not, monsieur, if it is the law, and there is precedent for it, as I have shown you, and if it can be established that what I state is the truth--as established it can be without difficulty?” “Do you ask me, why not? Have you temerity to ask me that?” “I have, monsieur. Can you answer me? If you cannot, monsieur, I shall understand that whilst it is possible for a powerful family like that of La Roche Jeannine to set the law in motion, the law must remain inert for the obscure and uninfluential, however brutally wronged by a great nobleman.” M. de Lesdiguieres perceived that in argument he would accomplish nothing against this impassive, resolute young man. The menace of him grew more fierce. “I should advise you to take yourself off at once, and to be thankful for the opportunity to depart unscathed.” “I am, then, to understand, monsieur, that there will be no inquiry into this case? That nothing that I can say will move you?” “You are to understand that if you are still there in two minutes it will be very much the worse for you.” And M. de Lesdiguieres tinkled the silver hand-bell upon his table. “I have informed you, monsieur, that a duel--so-called--has been fought, and a man killed. It seems that I must remind you, the administrator of the King’s justice, that duels are against the law, and that it is your duty to hold an inquiry. I come as the legal representative of the bereaved mother of M. de Vilmorin to demand of you the inquiry that is due.” The door behind Andre-Louis opened softly. M. de Lesdiguieres, pale with anger, contained himself with difficulty. “You seek to compel us, do you, you impudent rascal?” he growled. “You think the King’s justice is to be driven headlong by the voice of any impudent roturier? I marvel at my own patience with you. But I give you a last warning, master lawyer; keep a closer guard over that insolent tongue of yours, or you will have cause very bitterly to regret its glibness.” He waved a jewelled, contemptuous hand, and spoke to the usher standing behind Andre. “To the door!” he said, shortly. Andre-Louis hesitated a second. Then with a shrug he turned. This was the windmill, indeed, and he a poor knight of rueful countenance. To attack it at closer quarters would mean being dashed to pieces. Yet on the threshold he turned again.