“A puppet?  Explain.”

“There was another who prompted him from behind.”

“Who?” sharply.

“I am afraid that at present I can not name him.”

“D’Herouville?  Be careful, Monsieur; this is a grave accusation you are making.  You will be forced to prove it.”  The governor looked worried; for to him the Comte d’Herouville was a great noble.

“I did not name him.  There was a woman behind all this; a woman who is the innocent cause.”

“Ha! a woman?” The governor leaned forward on his elbows.

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Mademoiselle de Longueville.  D’Herouville insulted her and the Chevalier took up her cause.”

“Why, then, did you not pick your quarrel with the count?”

“The vicomte had some prior claim.”

The governor got up and walked about, biting his mustache.  Victor eyed him with some anxiety.

“But the Chevalier; why did he not defend himself?”

Victor breathed impatiently.  “Frankly, Monsieur, how can he defend himself?”

“True.”  The governor scrubbed his beard.  He was in a quandary and knew not which way to move.  Tardy decision was the stumbling-block in the path of this well meaning man.  Problems irritated him; and in his secret heart he wished he had never seen the Chevalier, D’Herouville, the poet, or the vicomte, since they upset his quiet.  He had enough to do with public affairs without having private ones thrust gratuitously upon his care.  “Well, well,” he said, reseating himself; “you know my wishes.  Nothing but publicity will come of duels and brawls, and publicity is the last thing the Chevalier is seeking.  I feel genuinely sorry for him.  The stain on his name does not prevent him from being a brave man and a gentleman.  Control yourself, Monsieur de Saumaise, and the day will come when you will thank me for the advice.  As you have no incentive for running away, I will put you on your word, and the vicomte also.  You may go.  While I admire the spirit which led you to take up the Chevalier’s cause, I deplore it.  Who, then, will succeed Monsieur le Marquis?”

“That is a question I can not answer.  To the best of my knowledge, no one will succeed Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny.”

“So this is what brought him over here?  What brought you?”

“Friendship for him, an empty purse and a pocketful of ambition.”

The answer pleased De Lauson, and he nodded.  “That is all.”

“Thank you, Monsieur.”

“I shall keep you in mind . . . if you escape the gibbet.”

Monsieur de Saumaise, in displaying his teeth, signified that the least of his worries was the thought of the gibbet.

And so concluded the interview.

The Chevalier remained in his room all day, putting aside his food, and staring beyond the river.  His eyes were dull and the lids discolored from sleeplessness.  Victor waited for him to heap reproach upon him; but never a word did the Chevalier utter.  The only sign he gave of the volcano raging and burning beneath the thin mask of calm was the ceaseless knotting of the muscles of the jaw and the compressed lips.  When the poet broke forth, reviling his own conduct, the Chevalier silenced him with a gesture of the hand.