ges, "then attend to the horse;" and as
he spoke he threw the reins over the hook fixed in the tree by the
mounting-block. "Come," he said, addressing De Roquemaure and the
woman in a tone which would awaken no suspicion in the innkeeper's
mind. "Shall I assist madame to alight or will you?"

_Madame_, however, slipped off the horse by herself lightly enough,
brushing by St. Georges as she did so and whispering in his ear, "If I
could help him to kill you, I would!" and so they entered the inn,
St. Georges going last. He was a cautious man, this _chevau-leger_,
and he had seen the little stiletto--or wedding-knife, as it was
called then--in her girdle; he did not want the owner of those savage,
glistening eyes to stab him in the back. She looked capable of doing
it, he thought, judging by the sparkle they made behind the mask, and
of stabbing the innkeeper afterward to hide her guilt.

The man led them into a long, low, white-washed room at the end of a
corridor--all three noticing that it was some distance from the
inhabited part of the house, so that interruption was unlikely--a room
in which a fire burnt low.

"Bring the wine," St. Georges said to the man after he had lit the
candles in their sconces, "and be quick about it. We have no time to
tarry here."

Five minutes later the bottle of Brecquiny was on the table with three
long tapering glasses by its side; the man had made up the fire so
that it burnt brightly, and they were alone; and St. Georges, having
bidden him not interrupt them until they called, walked to the door,
locked it, and, coming back to the table, placed the key upon it.

"There will be two leave this room," he said quietly. "There is the
key for those who will require it.--Madame is comfortable, I trust,"
glancing at the woman who was seated at the table, her elbows on it,
and her face in her hands, while still the eyes glanced through the
holes of the mask at him.--"Now, Monsieur de Roquemaure, we have
sufficient space for our sword play here. I am at your service," and
he unsheathed his weapon.

The table was close to the fire, a deep chair on either side of it;
two smaller chairs, in one of which the woman sat, against the table;
beyond it a space of twenty square feet of coarse tiled floor--enough
for any pair of duellists to kill each other in!

"You force this on me," De Roquemaure said, rising and removing the
cloak he wore, and speaking between thin, almost bloodless lips;
"whe