an
insolent knave of the name of Rodenard, informed me that this Bardelys
projected visiting me. He has not come, and I devoutly hope that he may
not come. Trouble enough had I to rid myself of his servants, and but
for Monsieur de Lesperon's well-conceived suggestion they might still be
here."

"You have never met him, monsieur?" inquired the Chevalier.

"Never," replied our host in such a way that any but a fool must have
understood that he desired nothing less than such a meeting.

"A delightful fellow," murmured Saint-Eustache--"a brilliant, dazzling
personality."

"You--you are acquainted with him?" I asked.

"Acquainted?" echoed that boastful liar. "We were as brothers."

"How you interest me! And why have you never told us?" quoth madame, her
eyes turned enviously upon the young man--as enviously as were Lavedan's
turned in disgust. "It is a thousand pities that Monsieur de Bardelys
has altered his plans and is no longer coming to us. To meet such a man
is to breathe again the air of the grand monde. You remember, Monsieur
de Lesperon, that affair with the Duchess de Bourgogne?" And she smiled
wickedly in my direction.

"I have some recollection of it," I answered coldly. "But I think
that rumour exaggerates. When tongues wag, a little rivulet is often
described as a mountain torrent."

"You would not say so did you but know what I know," she informed me
roguishly. "Often, I confess, rumour may swell the importance of such an
affaire, but in this case I do not think that rumour does it justice."

I made a deprecatory gesture, and I would have had the subject changed,
but ere I could make an effort to that end, the fool Saint-Eustache was
babbling again.

"You remember the duel that was fought in consequence, Monsieur de
Lesperon?"

"Yes," I assented wearily.

"And in which a poor young fellow lost his life," growled the Vicomte.
"It was practically a murder."

"Nay, monsieur," I cried, with a sudden heat that set them staring at
me; "there you do him wrong. Monsieur de Bardelys was opposed to the
best blade in France. The man's reputation as a swordsman was of such
a quality that for a twelvemonth he had been living upon it, doing all
manner of unseemly things immune from punishment by the fear in which
he was universally held. His behaviour in the unfortunate affair we
are discussing was of a particularly shameful character. Oh, I know the
details, messieurs, I can sure you. He thought to impose