s has he slain. For a whole week have
I tracked him through the Dormoir, and now that we have him safe in his
lair in the Gorges d'Apremont--the King does not hunt! He has the
devil on his side, I say!"

"Way! Way for Monsieur le Vidame's horse!" called out a strident
voice, and a groom came up, leading a big white horse ready saddled.
The huntsmen moved aside, and the groom led the horse towards the
Chateau; but ere he had gone ten steps Simon himself appeared hastening
towards him.

Simon was still in his hunting suit of close-fitting dark green, a
short cloak thrown over his shoulder, and long boots that reached to
his thighs. His sword was slung scabbardless to his side, and he wore
a baret on his head, with a single cock's feather in it, underneath
which his pale face looked like that of a corpse.

As he came forward hastily towards his horse, his shoulders bent, and
his wolf's eyes fixed before him, there was that in his air which was
ominous of danger, and, springing to my feet, I drew my sword and
stepped towards him. He saw me too, and came up like a truculent dog.
We both reached the horse almost at the same time, and I fully expected
him to draw on me at once; but stopping, he said:

"You seem to forget, brother, that the edict applies to Fontainebleau
as well as the Louvre."

"Not in the least; but one is allowed to kill vermin in the forest."

He glanced at me in speechless, blue-lipped rage. Twice his hand
sought the hilt of his sword, and twice he drew it back. But that I
knew him utterly fearless I might have thought his heart had failed him
as he stood before me, the veins swollen on his forehead, and his
fingers twitching convulsively. At last he found voice, and, laughing
harshly, said:

"Not now; give me twenty-four hours, brother, and then as you wish, or,
rather, whether you wish or not."

"So be it," I answered, and he laughed again, bitter, mirthless
laughter, and reached out for the reins of his horse; but ere he
mounted he turned once more on me, another gust of anger shaking his
frame.

"Look you! You think you have beaten me because you have beaten that
black-eyed strumpet who bewitches the King. I tell you I hold her in
the hollow of my hand, and she cannot buy from me what she has bought
from you. As for you, you have stood in my way long enough; never
again shall it be. Fool! think you I cannot read your soul? Think you
I will let you win the prize I should have wo