around the combatants, so he could not get a very good view of them; but he was almost sure that they were the very men he had met first in the streets of Poitiers, to their great discomfiture, and had seen again the previous night at the hotel in the Rue Dauphine, where they certainly had gained no advantage to make up for their former defeat.  He communicated his suspicions to the tyrant, but the rascals had already slipped away, and it would have been as useless to attempt to find them in the throng as to look for a needle in a haystack.

“It certainly is possible,” said Herode, thoughtfully, “that this quarrel was gotten up with a view to involving you in it, by some means or other, for we are undoubtedly followed and watched by the emissaries of the Duke of Vallombreuse.  One of the scoundrels might have made believe that you were in the way, or that you had struck him, and falling upon you suddenly, before you had time to draw your sword, have given you a thrust that would have done for you; and if he failed to wound you mortally; the others could have pretended to come to their comrade’s aid, and have completed the job—­nothing would have been easier.  Then they would have separated, and slipped away through the crowd, before any one could interfere with them, or else have stood their ground, and declared unanimously that they had been obliged to attack you in self defence.  It is next to impossible in such cases to prove that the act was premeditated, and there is no redress for the unhappy victim of such a conspiracy.”

“But I am loath to believe,” said the brave, generous young baron, “that any gentleman could be capable of such an utterly base and unworthy act as this—­what, send a set of hired ruffians to foully assassinate his rival!  If he is not satisfied with the result of our first encounter, I am willing and ready to cross swords with him again and again, until one or the other of us is slain.  That is the way that such matters are arranged among men of honour, my good Herode!”

“Doubtless,” replied the tyrant, dryly, “but the duke well knows—­despite his cursed pride—­that the result of another meeting with you could not but be disastrous to himself.  He has tried the strength of your blade, and learned by bitter experience that its point is sharp.  You may be sure that he hates you like the very devil, and will not scruple to make use of any means whatever to revenge himself for his defeat at your hands.”

“Well, if he does not care to try my sword again, we could fight on horseback with pistols.  He could not accuse me of having any advantage of him there.”