out of danger, and that in a
month or so, he will be about again and ready to disgrace the name
of Canaples afresh. But there, sir; I crave your pardon for the
interruption."

I bowed, and when in answer to my questions he told me that he was in
ignorance of the details of the affair of which I spoke, I set about
laying those details before him. Beginning with the original provocation
in the Palais Royal and ending with the fight in the horse-market, I
related the whole story to him, but in an impersonal manner, and keeping
my own name out of my narrative. When I had done, Canaples muttered an
oath of the days of the fourth Henry.

"Ventre St. Gris! Does the dog carry his audacity so far as to dare come
betwixt me and my wishes, and to strive against them? He sought to kill
Mancini, eh? Would to Heaven he had died by the hand of this fellow who
shielded the lad!"

"Monsieur!" I cried, aghast at so unnatural an expression.

"Pah!" he cried harshly. "He is my son in name alone, filial he never
was."

"Nevertheless, Monsieur, he is still your son, your heir."

"My heir? And what, pray, does he inherit? A title--a barren, landless
title! By his shameful conduct he alienated the affection of his uncle,
and his uncle has disinherited him in favour of Yvonne. 'T is she who
will be mistress of this chateau with its acres of land reaching from
here to Blois, and three times as far on the other side. My brother,
sir, was the rich Canaples, the owner of all this, and by his testament
I am his heir during my lifetime, the estates going to Yvonne at my
death. So that you see I have naught to leave; but if I had, not a
denier should go to my worthless son!"

He spread his thin hands before the blaze, and for a moment there was
silence. Then I proceeded to tell him of the cabal which had been formed
against Mancini, and of the part played by St. Auban. At the mention of
that name he started as if I had stung him.

"What!" he thundered. "Is that ruffian also in the affair? Sangdieu! His
motives are not far to seek. He is a suitor--an unfavoured suitor--for
the hand of Yvonne, that seemingly still hopes. But you have not told
me, Monsieur, the name of this man who has stood betwixt Andrea and his
assassins."

"Can you not guess, Monsieur?" quoth I, looking him squarely in the
face. "Did you not hear Andrea call me, even now, his protector."

"You? And with what motive, pray?"

"At first, as I have told you, because the Ca