ng hair, gave him an air of indescribable keenness.

'I am not the King,' he said. 'Besides, I am told that you have killed
as many as six men in duels. You owe the King, therefore, one life at
least. You must pay it. There is no more to be said, M. de Berault,'
he continued coldly, turning away and beginning to collect some papers.
'The law must take its course.'

I thought that he was about to nod to the lieutenant to withdraw me, and
a chilling sweat broke out down my back. I saw the scaffold, I felt the
cords. A moment, and it would be too late!

'I have a favour to ask,' I stammered desperately, 'if your Eminence
will give me a moment alone.'

'To what end?' he answered, turning and eyeing me with cold disfavour.
'I know you--your past--all. It can do no good, my friend.'

'No harm!' I cried. 'And I am a dying man, Monseigneur!'

'That is true,' he said thoughtfully. Still he seemed to hesitate; and
my heart beat fast. At last he looked at the lieutenant. 'You may
leave us,' he said shortly. 'Now,' he continued, when the officer had
withdrawn and left us alone, 'what is it? Say what you have to say
quickly. And, above all, do not try to fool me, M. de Berault.'

But his piercing eyes so disconcerted me now that I had my chance,
and was alone with him, that I could not find a word to say, and stood
before him mute. I think this pleased him, for his face relaxed.

'Well?' he said at last. 'Is that all?'

'The man is not dead,' I muttered.

He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

'What of that?' he said. 'That was not what you wanted to say to me.'

'Once I saved your Eminence's life,' I faltered miserably.

'Admitted,' he answered, in his thin, incisive voice. 'You mentioned the
fact before. On the other hand, you have taken six to my knowledge,
M. de Berault. You have lived the life of a bully, a common bravo, a
gamester. You, a man of family! For shame! Do you wonder that it has
brought you to this! Yet on that one point I am willing to hear more,'
he added abruptly.

'I might save your Eminence's life again,' I cried. It was a sudden
inspiration.

'You know something?' he said quickly, fixing me with his eyes. 'But
no,' he continued, shaking his head gently. 'Pshaw! The trick is old. I
have better spies than you, M. de Berault.'

'But no better sword,' I cried hoarsely. 'No, not in all your guard!'

'That is true,' he said slowly. 'That is true.' To my surprise, he spoke
in a tone of conside