ammont and the lackey."

But Monsieur shook his head.

"I cannot do that."

"Why not, Monsieur?"

"Can I take my own son prisoner?"

"Monsieur need not go," said I, wondering. In his place I would have
gone and killed Yeux-gris with my own hands. "Vigo and I and two more
can do it. Vigo and I alone, if Monsieur would not shame him before the
men." I guessed at what he was thinking.

"Not even you and Vigo," he answered. "Think you I would arrest my son
like a common felon--shame him like that?"

"He has shamed himself!" I cried. I cared not whether I had a right to
say it. "He has forgotten his honour."

"Aye. But I have remembered mine."

"Monsieur! Monsieur cannot mean to let him go scot-free?"

But his eyes told me that he did mean it.

"Then," I said in more and more amazement, "Monsieur forgives him?"

His face set sternly.

"No," he answered. "No, Felix. He has placed himself beyond my
forgiveness."

"Then we will go there alone, we two, and kill him! Kill the three!"

He laughed. But not a man in France felt less mirthful.

"You would have me kill my son?"

"He would have killed you."

"That makes no difference."

I looked at him, groping after the thoughts that swayed him, and
catching at them dimly. I knew them for the principles of a proud and
honour-ruled man, but there was no room for them in my angry heart.

"Monsieur," I cried, "will you let three villains go unpunished for the
sake of one?" It was what I had meant to do, awhile back, but the case
was changed now.

"Of two: Gervais de Grammont is also of my blood."

"Monsieur would spare him as well--him, the ringleader!"

"He is my cousin."

"He forgets it."

"But I do not."

"Monsieur, will you have no vengeance?"

Monsieur looked at me.

"When you are a man, Felix Broux, you will know that there are other
things in this world besides vengeance. You will know that some injuries
cannot be avenged. You will know that a gentleman cannot use the same
weapons that blackguards use to him."

"Ah, Monsieur!" I cried. "Monsieur is indeed a nobleman!" But I was
furious with him for it.

He turned abruptly and paced down the room. The dog, which had been
standing at his side, stayed still, looking from him to me with puzzled,
troubled eyes. He knew quite well something was wrong, and vented his
feelings in a long, dismal whine. Monsieur spoke to him; Roland bounded
up to him and licked his hand. They walked up and down toget