“M. de Mar, it appears that, after all, some explanations are necessary.  You think that in declining to fight you put me in your debt.  Possibly you are right.  But if you expect that in gratitude I shall hand over Lorance de Montluc, you were never more mistaken.  Never, while I live, shall she marry into the king’s camp.  Now, monsieur, that we understand each other, I abide by your decision whether we fight or not.”

For answer, M. Etienne put up his blade.  The Duke of Mayenne, saluting with his, did the like.  “Mar,” he said, “you stood off from us, like a coquetting girl, for three years.  At length, last May, you refused point-blank to join us.  I do not often ask a man twice, but I ask you.  Will you join the League to-night, and marry Lorance to-morrow?”

No man could have spoken with a franker grace.  I believe then, I believe now, he meant it.  M. Etienne believed he meant it.

“Monsieur,” he answered, “I have shilly-shallied long; but I am planted squarely at last with my father on the king’s side.  You put your interesting nephew into my father’s house to kill him; I shall not sign myself with the League.”

“In that case,” returned Mayenne, “perhaps we might each continue on his way.”

“With all my heart, monsieur.”

Each drew back against the wall to let the other pass, with a wary eye for daggers.  Then M. Etienne, laughing a little, but watching Mayenne like a lynx, started to go by.  The duke, seeing the look, suddenly raised his hands over his head, holding them there while both of us squeezed past him.

“Cousin Charles,” said M. Etienne, “I see that when I have married Lorance you and I shall get on capitally.  Till then, God have you ever in guard.”

“I thank you, monsieur.  You make me immortal.”

“I have no need to make you witty.  M. de Mayenne, when you have submitted to the king, as you will one of these days, I shall have as delightful a kinsman as heart of man could wish.  You and I will yet drink a loving-cup together.  Till that happy hour, I am your good enemy.  Fare you well, monsieur.”

He bowed; the duke, half laughing despite a considerable ire, returned the obeisance with all pomp.  M. Etienne took me by the arm and departed.  Mayenne stood still for a space; then we heard his retreating footsteps, and the glimmer of his light slowly faded away.

[Illustration:  “WE CLIMBED OUT INTO A SILK-MERCER’S SHOP.”]

“It wasn’t necessary to tell him the door is bolted,” M. Etienne muttered.

We hurried along now without precaution, knowing that the floor which had supported Mayenne would support us.  The consequence was that we stumbled abruptly against a step, and fell with a force like to break our kneecaps.  I picked myself up at once, and ran headlong up the stairs, to hit my crown on the ceiling and reel back on M. Etienne, sweeping him off his feet, so that we rolled in a struggling heap on the stones of the passage.  And for the minute the place was no longer dark; I saw more lightning than even flashed in the Rue Coupejarrets.