“Here is the whole thing in a nutshell, my lord duke!  I received, from Merindol—­acting for your lordship—­part payment in advance for despatching a certain Baron de Sigognac, commonly called Captain Fracasse.  On account of circumstances beyond my control, I have not been able to finish the job, and as I am a great stickler for honesty, and honour also, I have hastened to bring back to you, my lord duke, the money that I did not earn.”

With these words he advanced a step, and with a gesture that was not devoid of dignity, gently laid the purse down on a beautiful Florentine mosaic table, that stood at the duke’s elbow.

“Verily,” said Vallombreuse sneeringly, “we seem to have here one of those droll bullies who are good for naught but to figure in a comedy; an ass in a lion’s skin, whose roar is nothing worse than a bray.  Come, my man, own up frankly that you were afraid of that same de Sigognac.”

“Jacquemin Lampourde has never been afraid of anybody in his life,” the fighting man replied, drawing himself up haughtily, “and no adversary has ever seen his back.  Those who know me will tell your lordship that easy victories have no charm for me.  I love danger and court it.  I take positive delight in it.  I attacked the Baron de Sigognac ’secundum artem,’ and with one of my very best swords—­made by Alonzo de Sahagun, the elder, of Toledo.”

“Well, and what happened then?” said the young duke eagerly.  “It would seem that you could not have been victorious, since you wish to refund this money, which was to pay you for despatching him.”

“First let me inform your highness that in the course of my duels and combats, of one sort and another, I have left no less than thirty-seven men stretched dead upon the ground—­and that without counting in all those I have wounded mortally or crippled for life.  But this Baron de Sigognac intrenched himself within a circle of flashing steel as impenetrable as the walls of a granite fortress.  I called into requisition all the resources of my art against him, and tried in every possible way to surprise him off his guard, but he was ready for everything—­as quick as a flash, as firm as a rock—­he parried every thrust triumphantly, magnificently, with the most consummate science, and a grace and ease I have never seen equalled.  He kept me busy defending myself too all the time, and more than once had nearly done for me.  His audacity was astonishing, his sang froid superb, and his perfect mastery over his sword, and his temper, sublime—­he was not a man, but a god.  I could have fallen down and worshipped him.  At the risk of being spitted on his sword, I prolonged the fight as much as I dared, so as to enjoy his marvellous, glorious, unparalleled method to the utmost.  However, there had to be an end of it, and I thought I was sure of despatching him at last by means of a secret I possess—­an infallible and very difficult thrust, taught and bequeathed to me by the great Girolamo of Naples, my beloved