“My lord duke,” said Merindol in a trembling voice, “is unjust to his faithful servant, who desires nothing but to do his lord’s bidding.  But this Baron de Sigognac is not to be disposed of so easily as my lord believes.  Never was there a braver, more fearless man.  In our first attack on him, at Poitiers, he got the better of us in a most wonderful way—­we never saw the like of it—­and all he had to fight with was a dull, rusty sword, not intended for use at all; a theatre sword, just for looks.  And when we tried to do for him here in Paris, the very night he got here, it all came to naught, because he was so watchful, and somehow suspected what we were up to, and was ready for us; and that upset our beautiful little plan entirely.  I never was so surprised in my life; and there was nothing for us to do, the whole four of us, but to get out of his sight as fast as we could, and he standing there laughing at us.  Oh! he’s a rare one, is Captain Fracasse.  And now he knows my face, so I can’t go near him myself.  But I have engaged the services of a particular friend of mine—­the bravest man and the best fighter in Paris—­he hasn’t his equal in the world with the sword, they all say.  He is lying in wait for him on the Pont-Neuf now, at this very moment, and there’ll be no mistake this time.  Lampourde will be sure to despatch him for us—­if it is not done already—­and that without the slightest danger of your lordship’s name being mixed up with the affair in any way, as it might have been if your lordship’s own servants had done it.”

“The plan is not a bad one,” said the young duke, somewhat mollified, “and perhaps it is better that it should be done in that way.  But are you really sure of the courage and skill of this friend of yours?  He will need both to get the better of that confounded de Sigognac, who is no coward, and a master hand with the sword, I am bound to acknowledge, though I do hate him like the devil.”

“My lord need have no fears,” said Merindol enthusiastically, being now more at his ease.  “Jacquemin Lampourde is a hero, a wonder, as everybody will tell your lordship.  He is more valiant than Achilles, or the great Alexander.  He is not spotless certainly, like the Chevalier Bayard, but he is fearless.”

Picard, who had been hovering about for a few minutes in an uneasy way, now seeing that his master was in a better humour, approached and told him that a very odd-looking man was below, who asked to see him immediately on most important business.

“You may bring him in,” said the duke, “but just warn him, Picard, that if he dares to intrude upon me for any trifling matter, I’ll have him skinned alive before I let him go.”

Mirindol was just about leaving the room, when the entrance of the newcomer rooted him to the spot; he was so astonished and alarmed that he could not move hand or foot.  And no wonder, for it was no other than the hero whose name he had just spoken—­Jacquemin Lampourde in person—­and the bare fact of his having dared to penetrate so boldly into the dread presence of that high and mighty seignior, the Duke of Vallombreuse, ignoring entirely the agent through whom his services had been engaged, showed of itself that something very extraordinary must have taken place.