ot's horse, pricked
stealthily by Champernoun's sword, leaped forward and dashed in fright
up the hill, its rider sitting stiff as a doll in his bonds. The Jacobin
cried out and the soldiers made as if to follow, but Gaspard's voice
checked them. "Let be. The beast will not go far. I have matters of
importance to discuss with this reverend father."

The priest's face sharpened with a sudden suspicion. "Your manners are
somewhat peremptory, sir Spaniard. But speak and let us get on."

"I have only the one word. I told you we had come north to see the
fruition of the good work, and you approved. We do not mean the same.
By good work I mean that about sunrise I slew with this sword the man
Petrucci, who slew the Admiral. By its fruition I mean that I have come
to settle with you."

"You...?" the other stammered.

"I am Gaspard de Laval, a kinsman and humble follower of Goligny."

The Jacobin was no coward. "Treason!" he cried. "A Huguenot! Cut them
down, my men," and he drew a knife from beneath his robe.

But Gaspard's eye and voice checked the troopers. He held in his hand
the gold trinket. "I have no quarrel with you. This is the passport of
your leader, the Duke. I show it to you, and if you are questioned about
this day's work you can reply that you took your orders from him who
carried Guise's jewel. Go your ways back to Paris if you would avoid
trouble."

Two of the men seemed to waver, but the maddened cry of the priest
detained them. "They seek to murder me," he screamed. "Would you
desert God's Church and burn in torment for ever?" He hurled himself on
Gaspard, who caught his wrist so that the knife tinkled on the high road
while the man overbalanced himself and fell. The next second the mellay
had begun.

It did not last long. The troopers were heavy fellows, cumbrously armed,
who, even with numbers on their side, stood little chance against two
swift swordsmen, who had been trained to fight together against odds.
One Gaspard pulled from the saddle so that he lay senseless on the
ground. One Champernoun felled with a sword cut of which no morion could
break the force. The two others turned tail and fled, and the last seen
of them was a dust cloud on the road to Paris.

Gaspard had not drawn his sword. They stood by the bridge of a little
river, and he flung Guise's jewel far into its lilied waters.

"A useful bauble," he smiled, "but its purpose is served."

The priest stood in the dust, with furiou