"What have we here?" he demanded. "A pretty girl, two holy men, and a scarecrow! You are Genevists--Calvin's folk--Huguenots! This will not do; a fair maid's place is in a king's court. I will escort her thither. My wife will have great pleasure in her society, and will make her one of her own or of the Queen's maids-of-honour. From what I hear, her elder Majesty hath great need of such!" "Not more than His Majesty has need of men of honour about him," cried the Abbé John fiercely--"aye, and has had all his life!" "Hola, young cock-sparrow, clad in the habit of the hoodie-crow!" said D'Epernon, turning upon him, "from what stable-heap do you come that you chirp so loud?" "From that same heap on which you serve as stable-boy, my Lord Duke!" said the Abbé John. The Duke's brow darkened. He put his hand quickly to his gold-hilted rapier. "Ah, pray do," sneered the Abbé John; "follow your inclination. Let the bright steel out. Get a man to hold our horses, and--have at you, my good Gascon!" By this time the Duke d'Epernon's gentlemen were spurring angrily forward, but he halted them with a wave of his hand, without turning round in his saddle or taking his eyes off John's face. "What is your name?" he demanded, his brows twitching so quickly that the eye could scarce follow their movements. "I am John d'Albret, nephew of the Cardinal Bourbon and----" "Cousin of the Bearnais?" sneered the Duke, his eye glittering. "Student at the Sorbonne!" said the Abbé John firmly. "All the same, if clerk I am, I am no poor clerk, and so you will find me--if, waiving my royal blood, I consent to put my steel to yours upon the sward. Come, down with you--and fall on!" Now the Duke d'Epernon was anything rather than a coward. He made a motion as if to dismount, and there is little doubt but that his intention was to match his long-trained skill and success as a swordsman against the Abbé John's mastery of the latest science of sword-play learned in the Paris _salles_. But suddenly D'Epernon checked himself. Then he laughed. "No," he said; "after all, why should we fight? We may need each other one day, and there is no honour in killing a bantam, even if he hath a left-hand strain of kingly blood in him!" "Left-hand!" cried the Abbé John: "you lie in your throat. My blood is infinitely more dexter than your own, and I make a better use of it! I am no mignon, at least." Now this was a bitter taunt indeed, and even the tanned face of the King's warlike favourite flushed. "As to mignons," he said, "you look much more like one yourself, young cockerel. I have overly many scars on my cheeks for the trade. And this is, I presume, your sister--to judge by the resemblance?" The Duke turned to Claire, who had been looking at him with a certain involuntary admiration. "What, no? Your niece, you say, my good Sorbonnist? I am not sure but that, as a strict Catholic, I must object. The age is scarce canonical!"