M. le Marquis looked on, very white save where M. de Vilmorin’s finger-prints began slowly to colour his face; but he said nothing more.  Instead, it was M. de Chabrillane who now did the talking, taking up his preconcerted part in this vile game.

“You realize, monsieur, what you have done,” said he, coldly, to Philippe.  “And you realize, of course, what must inevitably follow.”

M. de Vilmorin had realized nothing.  The poor young man had acted upon impulse, upon the instinct of decency and honour, never counting the consequences.  But he realized them now at the sinister invitation of M. de Chabrillane, and if he desired to avoid these consequences, it was out of respect for his priestly vocation, which strictly forbade such adjustments of disputes as M. de Chabrillane was clearly thrusting upon him.

He drew back.  “Let one affront wipe out the other,” said he, in a dull voice.  “The balance is still in M. le Marquis’s favour.  Let that content him.”

“Impossible.”  The Chevalier’s lips came together tightly.  Thereafter he was suavity itself, but very firm.  “A blow has been struck, monsieur.  I think I am correct in saying that such a thing has never happened before to M. le Marquis in all his life.  If you felt yourself affronted, you had but to ask the satisfaction due from one gentleman to another.  Your action would seem to confirm the assumption that you found so offensive.  But it does not on that account render you immune from the consequences.”

It was, you see, M. de Chabrillane’s part to heap coals upon this fire, to make quite sure that their victim should not escape them.

“I desire no immunity,” flashed back the young seminarist, stung by this fresh goad.  After all, he was nobly born, and the traditions of his class were strong upon him — stronger far than the seminarist schooling in humility.  He owed it to himself, to his honour, to be killed rather than avoid the consequences of the thing he had done.

“But he does not wear a sword, messieurs!” cried Andre Louis, aghast.

“That is easily amended.  He may have the loan of mine.”

“I mean, messieurs,” Andre-Louis insisted, between fear for his friend and indignation, “that it is not his habit to wear a sword, that he has never worn one, that he is untutored in its uses.  He is a seminarist — a postulant for holy orders, already half a priest, and so forbidden from such an engagement as you propose.”

“All that he should have remembered before he struck a blow,” said M. de Chabrillane, politely.

“The blow was deliberately provoked,” raged Andre-Louis.  Then he recovered himself, though the other’s haughty stare had no part in that recovery.  “O my God, I talk in vain!  How is one to argue against a purpose formed!  Come away, Philippe.  Don’t you see the trap... "

M. de Vilmorin cut him short, and flung him off.  “Be quiet, Andre.  M. le Marquis is entirely in the right.”