“That old hag who came to-night and dared to show her filthy face here without her daughter—­she told me of your talks and walks.  The girl was ready to come.  Who stopped her?  Who turned her mind?  Who was there but you—­you—­you?”

And again his passion overcame him, and he was within an ace of dashing his fist in my face.

My hands hung at my side, and I leaned easily against the wall.

“Thank God,” said I, “I believe I stopped her!  I believe I turned her mind.  I did my best, and except me, nobody was there.”

“You admit it?”

“I admit the crime you charged me with.  Nothing more.”

“What have you done with her?  Where is she now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Ah!” he cried, in angry incredulity.  “You don’t know, don’t you?”

“And if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I’m sure of that,” he sneered.  “It is knowledge a man keeps to himself, isn’t it?  But, by Heaven, you shall tell me before you leave this place, or—­”

“We have already one good ground of quarrel,” I interrupted.  “What need is there of another?”

“A good ground of quarrel?” he repeated, in a questioning tone.

Honestly I believe that he had for the moment forgotten.  His passion for Marie Delhasse and fury at the loss of her filled his whole mind.

“Oh, yes,” he went on.  “About the duchess?  True, Mr. Aycon.  That will serve—­as well as the truth.”

“If that is not a real ground, I know none,” said I.

“Haven’t you told me that you kept her from me?”

“For no purposes of my own.”

He drew back a step, smiling scornfully.

“A man is bound to protest that the lady is virtuous,” said he; “but need he insist so much on his own virtue?”

“As it so happens,” I observed, “it’s not a question of virtue.”

I suppose there was something in my tone that caught his attention, for his scornful air was superseded by an intent puzzled gaze, and his next question was put in lower tones: 

“What did you stay in Avranches for?”

“Because your wife asked me,” said I. The answer was true enough, but, as I wished to deal candidly with him, I added:  “And, later on, Mlle. Delhasse expressed a similar desire.”

“My wife and Mlle. Delhasse!  Truly you are a favorite!”

“Honest men happen to be scarce in this neighborhood,” said I. I was becoming rather angry.

“If you are one, I hope to be able to make them scarcer by one more,” said the duke.

“Well, we needn’t wrangle over it any more,” said I; and I sat down on the lid of a chest that stood by the hearth.  But the duke sprang forward and seized me by the arm, crying again in ungovernable rage: 

“Where is she?”

“She is safe from you, I hope.”

“Aye—­and you’ll keep her safe!”

“As I say, I know nothing about her, except that she’d be an honest girl if you’d let her alone.”