“No one can blame you for that, my dear duke, for there is certainly no very great harm in having a play-actor—­or writer either, for that matter—­thoroughly thrashed, if he has had the presumption to offend,” said the marquis, with a contemptuous shrug; “such cattle are not worth the value of the sticks broken over their backs.  But this is a different case altogether.  Under the mask of Captain Fracasse—­who, by the way, routed your ruffians in superb style—­is the Baron de Sigognac; a nobleman of the old school, the head of one of the best families we have in Gascony; one that has been above reproach for many centuries.”

“What the devil is he doing in this troupe of strolling players, pray?” asked the Duke of Vallombreuse, with some heat, toying nervously with the cord and tassels of his dressing-gown as he spoke.  “Could I be expected to divine that there was a de Sigognac hidden under that grotesque costume, and behind that absurd false nose?”

“As to your first question,” the marquis replied, “I can answer it in one word—­Isabelle.  Between ourselves, I believe that the young baron is desperately in love with her.  Indeed, he makes no secret of that fact; and, not having been able to induce her to remain with him in his chateau, he has joined the troupe of which she is a member, in order to pursue his love affair.  You certainly ought not to find this gallant proceeding in bad taste, since you also admire the fair object of his pursuit.”

“No; I admit all that you say.  But you, in your turn, must acknowledge that I could not be cognisant of this extraordinary romance by inspiration, and that the action of Captain Fracasse was impertinent.”

“Impertinent for an actor, I grant you,” said the marquis, “but perfectly natural, indeed inevitable, for a gentleman, resenting unauthorized attentions to his mistress, and angry at an affront offered to her.  Now Captain Fracasse throws aside his mask, and as Baron de Sigognac sends you by me his challenge to fight a duel, and demands redress in that way for the insult you have offered him.”

“But who is to guarantee me that this pretended Baron de Sigognac, who actually appears on the stage before the public with a company of low buffoons as one of themselves, is not a vulgar, intriguing rascal, usurping an honourable name, in the hope of obtaining the honour of crossing swords with the Duke of Vallombreuse?”

“Duke,” said the Marquis de Bruyeres, with much dignity, and some severity of tone, “I would not serve as second to any man who was not of noble birth, and of honourable character.  I know the Baron de Sigognac well.  His chateau is only a few leagues from my estate.  I will be his guarantee.  Besides, if you still persist in entertaining any doubts with regard to his real rank, I have here with me all the proofs necessary to convince you of his right to the ancient and distinguished name of Sigognac.  Will you permit me to call in my servant, who is waiting in the antechamber?  He will give you all those documents, for which I am personally responsible.”