“And if I should use force?” throwing aside the reins of self-control.

“Force, force!” flinging wide her hands; “you speak to me of force!  Monsieur, you are not a fool, but a madman.”

“But we are still tender toward the Chevalier?” snarling.

“The least I can say of Monsieur le Chevalier is that he is a gentleman.”

“A gentleman?  Ho! that is rich.  A gentleman!”

The path was at this point almost too narrow for her to walk around him; so she waited without replying.

“And do not forget, Madame, that you are a fugitive from justice, and that a word to Monsieur de Lauson . . .”

“I dare you to speak, Monsieur,” with growing anger.  “Have you no bogus paper to hold over my head?  Are you about to play the vicomte’s trick second-hand?”

“I know nothing about his tricks, but I shall kill him at an early date.”

Madame’s shrug said plainly that it mattered nothing to her.  “Once more, will you stand aside, or must I call?”

“Call, Madame!” His violence got the better of him, and he seized her wrist.  “Call to the fellow who calls himself the Chevalier; call!”

“Do I hear some one calling my name?” said a voice not far away.

D’Herouville looked over madame’s shoulder, while madame turned with relief.  She quickly released her wrist and sped some distance up the path, passing the Chevalier, who did not stop till he stood face to face with D’Herouville.

“You were about to remark?” began the Chevalier, a frank and honest hatred in his eyes.

The count eyed him contemptuously.  “Stand out of the way, you . . .”

“Do not speak that word aloud, Monsieur,” interrupted the Chevalier, gloomily, “or I will force it down your throat, though we both tumble over the cliff.”

D’Herouville knew the Perigny blood well enough to believe that the Chevalier was in earnest.  “It would be your one opportunity,” he said; “for you do not suppose I shall do you the honor to cross swords with you.”

“Most certainly I do.  You laughed that night, and no man shall laugh at me and boast of it.”

“I shall always laugh,” and the count’s laughter, loud and insulting, drifted to where madame stood.

There was something so sinister in the echo that she became chilled.  She watched the two men, fascinated by she knew not what.

“You shall die for that laugh,” said the Chevalier, paling.

“By the cliff, then, but never by the sword.”

“By the sword.  I shall challenge you at the first mess you attend.  If you refuse and state your reasons, I promise to knock you down.  If you persist in refusing, I shall slap your face wherever and whenever we chance to meet.  That is all I have to say to you; I trust that it is explicit.”