word with great swiftness. I thought he must have been killed, but the
rapidity of his action saved him, for the spear passed his shoulder
so close that it tore away a shred of his coat, and stuck in the wall
behind him. In another instant Doltaire had his sword-point at Voban's
throat. The man did not cringe, did not speak a word, but his hands
clinched, and the muscles of his face worked painfully. There was at
first a fury in Doltaire's face and a metallic hardness in his eyes,
and I was sure he meant to pass his sword through the other's body;
but after standing for a moment, death hanging on his sword-point,
he quietly lowered his weapon, and, sitting on a chair-arm, looked
curiously at Voban, as one might sit and watch a mad animal within
a cage. Voban did not stir, but stood rooted to the spot, his eyes,
however, never moving from Doltaire. It was clear that he had looked
for death, and now expected punishment and prison. Doltaire took out his
handkerchief and wiped a sweat from his cheeks. He turned to me soon,
and said, in a singularly impersonal way, as though he were speaking of
some animal:

"He had great provocation. The Duchess de Valois had a young panther
once which she had brought up from the milk. She was inquisitive, and
used to try its temper. It was good sport, but one day she took away
its food, gave it to the cat, and pointed her finger at monsieur the
panther. The Duchess de Valois never bared her breast thereafter to an
admiring world--a panther's claws leave scars." He paused, and presently
continued: "You remember it, Voban; you were the Duke's valet then--you
see I recall you! Well, the panther lost his head, both figuratively and
in fact. The panther did not mean to kill, maybe, but to kill the lady's
beauty was death to her.... Voban, yonder spear was poisoned!"

He wiped his face, and said to me, "I think you saw that at the
dangerous moment I had no fear; yet now when the game is in my own
hands, my cheek runs with cold sweat. How easy to be charged with
cowardice! Like evaporation, the hot breath of peril passing suddenly
into the cold air of safety leaves this!"--he wiped his cheek again.

He rose, moved slowly to Voban, and, pricking him with his sword, said,
"You are a bungler, barber. Now listen. I never wronged you; I have only
been your blister. I prick your sores at home. Tut! tut! they prick them
openly in the market-place. I gave you life a minute ago; I give you
freedom now.