le Comte said nothing.

How Grammont found the strength only God knows, who haply in his
goodness gave him a last chance of mercy. Suddenly he straightened his
sinking body, started from our hold, and tottered toward his cousin,
both hands outstretched in appeal.

M. le Comte's face was set like a flint. The dying man faltered forward.
Then M. Etienne, never changing his countenance, slowly, half
reluctantly, like a man in a dream, held out his hand.

But the old comrades, estranged by traitory, were never to clasp again.
As he reached M. le Comte, Grammont fell at his feet.

"He was a strong man," said Vigo. He turned Grammont's face up and added
the word, "Dead." Vigo adored the Duke of St. Quentin. Otherwise he had
no emotions.

But I was not case-hardened. And I--I myself--had slain this man, who
had died slowly and in great pain. Vigo's voice sounded to me far off as
he said bluntly:

"M. le Comte, I make you my prisoner."

"No, by Heaven!" cried M. Etienne, in a vibrating voice that brought me
back to reality; "no, Vigo! I am no murderer. Things may look black
against me but I am innocent. You have one villain at your feet and one
a prisoner, but I am not a third! I am a St. Quentin; I do not plot
against my father. I was to aid Grammont to set on Lucas, who would not
answer a challenge. I have been tricked. Gervais asked my
forgiveness--you heard him. Their dupe, yes--accomplice I was not.
Never have I lifted my hand against my father, nor would I, whatever
came. That I swear. Never have I laid eyes on Lucas since I left
Monsieur's presence, till now when he came out of that door side by side
with Grammont. Whatever the plot, I knew naught of it. I am a St.
Quentin--no parricide!"

The ringing voice ceased and M. le Comte stood silent, with haggard eyes
on Vigo. Had he been prisoner at the bar of judgment he could not have
waited in greater anxiety. For Vigo, the yeoman and servant, never
minced words to any man nor swerved from the stark truth.

I burned to seize Vigo's arm, to spur him on to speech. Of course he
believed M. Etienne; how dared he make his master wait for the
assurance? On his knees he should be, imploring M. le Comte's pardon.

But no thought of humbling himself troubled Vigo. Nor did he pronounce
judgment, but merely said:

"M. le Comte will go home with me now. To-morrow he can tell his story
to my master."

"I will tell it before this hour is out!"

"No. M. le Duc has left P