was no one present who would have refused to say he was
in the wrong.

"Messieurs," said De Guiche, intuitively divining the general feeling,
"my discussion with Monsieur de Wardes refers to a subject so delicate
in its nature, that it is most important no one should hear more than
you have already heard. Close the doors, then, I beg you, and let us
finish our conversation in the manner which becomes two gentlemen, one
of whom has given the other the lie."

"Messieurs, messieurs!" exclaimed those who were present.

"Is it your opinion, then, that I was wrong in defending Mademoiselle de
la Valliere?" said De Guiche. "In that case, I pass judgment upon
myself, and am ready to withdraw the offensive words I may have used to
Monsieur de Wardes."

"The deuce! certainly not!" said Saint-Aignan. "Mademoiselle de la
Valliere is an angel."

"Virtue and purity itself," said Manicamp.

"You see, Monsieur de Wardes," said Guiche, "I am not the only one who
undertakes the defense of that poor girl. I entreat you, therefore,
messieurs, a second time, to leave us. You see, it is impossible we
could be more calm and composed than we are."

It was the very thing the courtiers wished; some went out at one door,
and the rest at the other, and the two young men were left alone.

"Well played," said De Wardes, to the comte.

"Was it not?" replied the latter.

"How can it be wondered at, my dear fellow; I have got quite rusty in
the country, while the command you have acquired over yourself, comte,
confounds me; a man always gains something in women's society; so, pray
accept my congratulations."

"I do accept them."

"And I will make Madame a present of them."

"And now, my dear Monsieur de Wardes, let us speak as loud as you
please."

"Do not defy me."

"I do defy you, for you are known to be an evil-minded man; if you do
that, you will be looked upon as a coward, too; and Monsieur would have
you hanged this evening at his window-casement. Speak, my dear De
Wardes, speak."

"I have fought already."

"But not quite enough, yet."

"I see, you would not be sorry to fight with me while my wounds are
still open."

"No; better still."

"The deuce! you are unfortunate in the moment you have chosen; a duel,
after the one I have just fought, would hardly suit me: I have lost too
much blood at Boulogne: at the slightest effort my wounds would open
again, and you would really have too good a bargain with me."

"True," s