He was clad entirely in black from the close-fitting cap upon his head to the toes of his fine leather boots. His doublet encircled his chest with the tightness of a drum and was of a rich cloth, durable but severely plain. As far as I could see he was without weapons of any sort save the knotted staff which he had in his hand. He was what you might call of medium height and build. But the longer you looked at him, the more you grew aware of some hidden strength that lay within. His face was square and large boned and of a ruggedness of color that bespoke a life in the open. His eyes were deep set in their sockets. When he looked at you the steadiness of his gaze was midway between a frown and a scowl. He moved like a man who was accustomed to time his actions to the moment, but withal with such lightness and ease that constantly reminded you that, at the slightest need, he could spring forward with the litheness of a tiger and strike with the swiftness of lightning. He remained for a while standing looking from my brother to De Marsac. Then, of a sudden he laughed. But it was a laugh that had no mirth in it but which rang like a mocking echo through the trees. “Still at your old tricks, I see, De Marsac,” he said as he advanced. “You have profited little from the lesson that I so lately taught.” De Marsac’s hand shook. He rested his sword with the point upon the ground. He shifted uneasily, glancing in one direction then another. The flush on his face died out to the whiteness of parchment. He breathed. “Ah!” he cried, but his voice choked. “You!” The man in black folded his arms across his chest and let his club swing lightly from between his fingers. “Yes,” he said. “We have a little argument to settle between us. You will remember we began one but never finished.” De Marsac flashed a look of hate at the man. “I have not done with him there,” he said, pointing at André. “After this——” The stranger grinned and raised his brows. “From what I have seen, De Marsac, there may be no ‘after this’,” he said. “You know how disappointed I would feel to see you die!—that is by hands other than my own! Would you have me call you a coward in the presence of these witnesses?” “‘Coward’?” echoed our enemy. “You can’t say that. You know I fought you like a man until——” The stranger mocked him again. “Yes,” he said. “You did. That is—until you ran away!” De Marsac’s eyes sought the ground. He was like a rat that is cornered. A heavy frown crossed his brows and he ground his teeth in rage. “Come!” The man in black coaxed him. “I shall give you every advantage. You have a sword there in your hand. I have only an oaken staff. Could I offer you easier terms?”