France -- History -- Henry IV, 1589-1610 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
"Fine talk! Fine talk!" came the answer. "So you have said many a time
and run! Meet me in a ring, foot to foot and fairly, in your shirt!"
"I'll meet you!" the lieutenant answered passionately. "I'll meet you,
fool of the world. Little you know whom you have bearded. You must be
mad; but mad or not, say your prayer, for 'twill be the last time!"
There was a momentary pause. Then "Promise me a ring and fair-play!"
cried the high, delicate voice, "and a clear way of escape if I kill
you!"
"Ay, ay! That will I! All that! And much good may it do you!"
"Nay, but swear it," the stranger persisted, "by--by our Lady of
Rocamadour!"
"I swear it! I swear it!"
"Then," the stranger replied with a sneer, "it is for you to open.
I've no key!" And he leapt lightly from his pile of fagots to the
floor.
CHAPTER VIII.
FATHER ANGEL.
As he groped his way towards the door, he came into contact with
Roger, who was also making for it. Roger gripped him and tried to hold
him. "Is there no other way?" the lad muttered. The situation appalled
him. "No other way? You are no match for him!"
"That we shall see!" the stranger retorted curtly.
"Then I shall help you!" the lad declared.
"Would you take on another of them?" the stranger answered eagerly.
"But no, you are over young for it! You are over young by your voice."
Then, as the key grated in the lock, "Stand at my back if you will,"
he continued, "and if they--would play me foul, it may serve. But I
shall give him brief occasion! You will see a pretty thing, my lad."
Crash! The door was forced open, letting a flood of smoky light into
the dark place. He who had opened the door, Ampoule himself, strode
back, when he had done it, across the wooden bridge, and flinging a
hoarse taunt, a "Come if you dare!" over his shoulder, swaggered to
the farther end of the hollow space which the men had formed by
ranging themselves in three lines; the bridge and moat forming the
fourth. One in every three or four held up a blazing firebrand,
plucked from the flames; the light of which, falling on the
intervening space, rendered it as clear as in the day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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