“Are you quite sure?” the old banter awakening.  Suddenly he stared into the priest’s face.  “My faith, but that would be droll!  What is your interest in the Chevalier’s welfare? . . .  They say the marquis was a gay one in his youth, and handsome, and had a way with the women.  Yes, yes; that would be more than droll.  You are quite sure of the Chevalier’s standing?”

“So sure, Monsieur,” said Brother Jacques, “that if you continue to annoy him I shall denounce you.”

“The marquis will die some day.  How would it please your priestly ear to be called ’Monsieur le Marquis’?”

“Annoy either the Chevalier or Madame de Brissac, and I will denounce you.  That is all I have to say to you, Monsieur.  To a man of your adroit accomplishments it should be enough.  I have no interest in the Perigny family save a friendly one.”

“I dare say.”  The vicomte let his gaze fall till the spider came within vision.  He put a finger under it, and the insect began to climb frantically toward its web.

“Thus, you see there will be no duel between you and the Chevalier.”

The vicomte turned and looked out of the window; moonlight and glooms and falling leaves.  He remained there for some time.  Brother Jacques waited patiently to learn the vicomte’s determination.  He was curious, too, to test this man’s core.  Was it rotten, or hard and sound?  There was villainy, but of what kind?  The helpless villainy of a Nero, or the calculating villainy of a Tiberius?  When the vicomte presented his countenance to Brother Jacques, it had undergone a change.  It was masked with humility; all the haughtiness was gone.  He plucked nervously at his chin.

“I will confess to you,” he said simply.

“To me?” Brother Jacques recoiled.  “Let me call Father Chaumonot.”

“To you or to no one.”

“Give me a moment to think.”  Brother Jacques was secretly pleased to have tamed this spirit.

“To you or to no one,” repeated the vicomte.  “Do you believe in the holiness and sacredness of your office?”

“As I believe in God,” devoutly.  Fervor had at once elevated Brother Jacques’s priestly mind above earthly cunning.

“You will hear my confession?”

“Yes.”

The vicomte knelt.  From time to time he made a passionate gesture.  It was not a long confession, but it was compact and telling.

“Absolvo te,” murmured Brother Jacques mechanically, gazing toward Heaven.

Immediately the solemnity of the moment was jarred by a laugh.  The vicomte was standing, all piety gone from his face; and a rollicking devil shone from his eyes.

“Now, my curious friend,” tapping the astonished priest on the breast, “I have buried my secret beneath this black gown; tell it if you dare.”

“You have tricked me in the name of God?” horrified.

“Self-preservation; your knowledge forced me to it.  And it was a pretty trick, you will admit, casuist that you are.”