‘This is a bad business, M. de Berault,’ he said. ‘The man is dead they tell me.’ ‘Neither dying nor dead,’ I answered lightly. ‘If that be all you may go home again.’ ‘With you,’ he replied, with a grin, ‘certainly. And as it rains, the sooner the better. I must ask you for your sword, I am afraid.’ ‘Take it,’ I said, with the philosophy which never deserts me. ‘But the man will not die.’ ‘I hope that may avail you,’ he answered in a tone I did not like. ‘Left wheel, my friends! To the Chatelet! March!’ ‘There are worse places,’ I said, and resigned myself to fate. After all, I had been in a prison before, and learned that only one jail lets no prisoner escape. But when I found that my friend’s orders were to hand me over to the watch, and that I was to be confined like any common jail-bird caught cutting a purse or slitting a throat, I confess my heart sank. If I could get speech with the Cardinal, all would probably be well; but if I failed in this, or if the case came before him in strange guise, or if he were in a hard mood himself, then it might go ill with me. The edict said, death! And the lieutenant at the Chatelet did not put himself to much trouble to hearten me. ‘What! again M. de Berault?’ he said, raising his eyebrows as he received me at the gate, and recognised me by the light of the brazier which his men were just kindling outside. ‘You are a very bold man, or a very foolhardy one, to come here again. The old business, I suppose?’ ‘Yes, but he is not dead,’ I answered coolly. ‘He has a trifle--a mere scratch. It was behind the church of St Jacques.’ ‘He looked dead enough, my friend,’ the guardsman interposed. He had not yet left us. ‘Bah!’ I answered scornfully. ‘Have you ever known me make a mistake When I kill a man I kill him. I put myself to pains, I tell you, not to kill this Englishman. Therefore he will live.’ ‘I hope so,’ the lieutenant said, with a dry smile. ‘And you had better hope so, too, M. de Berault, For if not--’ ‘Well?’ I said, somewhat troubled. ‘If not, what, my friend?’ ‘I fear he will be the last man you will fight,’ he answered. ‘And even if he lives, I would not be too sure, my friend. This time the Cardinal is determined to put it down.’ ‘He and I are old friends,’ I said confidently. ‘So I have heard,’ he answered, with a short laugh. ‘I think that the same was said of Chalais. I do not remember that it saved his head.’