In a moment Gonzague's sword was unsheathed, and he leaped across the space that divided him from Lagardere, striking furiously for Lagardere's heart. But Lagardere was ready for him, and, with a familiar trick of the fencing-schools, wrenched Gonzague's weapon from his fingers and flung it to the floor. A dozen hands seized Gonzague--the hands of those that once had been proud to call themselves his friends. Lagardere turned to the king, appealingly: "Monseigneur, I cry a favor. Let me support this quarrel with my sword, and God defend the right." The king was silent for a few seconds, trying to set himself right with a world that had suddenly changed for him. Surely, it would be better to let it end so, whatever came of it. He turned to Lagardere, and bowed his head in silent approval: "As you will." Suddenly, then, the Princess de Gonzague, clinging to the child in her arms, cried out, calling to Chavernay: "Monsieur de Chavernay, in yonder alcove lies the sword of my dead husband. Fetch it, and give it to Monsieur de Lagardere." In a frightful silence Chavernay crossed the room, entered the alcove, and came forth holding the sword of Louis de Nevers in his hand--the sword that Louis de Nevers had used so valiantly on the night of Caylus. Silently he offered it to Lagardere, and silently Lagardere, giving the weapon he held to Cocardasse, took the sword of Nevers from the hands of Chavernay. Thereafter Lagardere stooped and picked up the fallen sword of Gonzague. Then, advancing towards his enemy, he made a sign to those that held him to release their captive--a sign that was immediately obeyed. He held out the weapon by its blade to Gonzague, who caught it. In another moment the two men were engaged in combat. On the walls the impassive portraits of the Three Louis looked on while one of the Three Louis fought for his shameful life, while another of the Three Louis sat in heart-broken judgment upon him, and while the widow of another of the Three Louis sat clasping in her arms the child she had surrendered in the moat of Caylus so many years ago. Gonzague was a fine swordsman, and Gonzague fought for his life, but he did not fight long. Suddenly Lagardere's arm and Lagardere's sword seemed to extend, the blade gleamed in the flare of the flambeaux, and Gonzague reeled and dropped. "Nine," said Cocardasse, thoughtfully. Passepoil placed his forefinger between his brows. "The thrust of Nevers," he murmured. Lagardere lifted his blood-dyed sword and saluted the picture of Louis of Nevers. "After the lackeys the master. Nevers, I have kept my word." Then he let fall his weapon, for the soft arms of Gabrielle were about his neck. THE END End of Project Gutenberg's The Duke's Motto, by Justin Huntly McCarthy