he inside of that cloak before I do. There is nothing more to
be said, Monsieur."

"Take care!" menacingly.

"Faith! Monsieur," the vicomte said, coolly, "my sword is quite as
long as yours. And there is the Chevalier. You must fight him first."

"And if you find the paper?" forcing a calm into his tones.

"I shall take the next ship back to France. I will see Beaufort and
Gaston, and the bubble will be pricked."

"Perhaps you may never return."

"As to that, we shall see. Come, is there not something more than ten
thousand livres behind that paper?"

"You banter. I do not understand."

"Is not madame's name there?"

"Well?"

"She is a widow, young, beautiful, and rich. And this incriminating
signature of hers,--what a fine thing it would be to hold over her
head! She is a woman, and a woman is easily duped in all things save
love."

D'Herouville trembled. "You are forcing war."

"So be it," tranquilly. "I will make one compact with you; if I find
the paper I will inform you. Will you accept a like?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, then, once in Paris, I will stake ten thousand livres
against your tentative claims to madame's hand. We will play at
_vingt-et-un_. That is true gambling, Monsieur, and you are a good
judge."

"I pick up the gauntlet with pleasure, under all conditions. Besides,
an idea has occurred to me. The paper may not be what we think it is.
The man who killed De Brissac is not one to give up or throw away the
rewards. Eh, Monsieur?"

"Perhaps he was pressed for time. His life perhaps depended upon his
escape. He may have dropped the cloak," shrewdly, "and some friend
found it and returned it to the Chevalier. A plausible supposition, as
you will agree."

"You may tell me a lie," said D'Herouville, thoughtfully.

"It would not be necessary, Monsieur le Comte," returned the vicomte,
suggestively tapping his sword.

CHAPTER XIV

BRETON FINDS A MARKER FOR HIS COPY OF RABELAIS

After the calm the storm came, after the storm the rough winds and
winnowed skies. At one moment the ship threatened to leap to heaven,
at another, to plunge down to the sea's floor. Breton had a time of it
one afternoon in the cabin. He was buffeted about like maize in a
heated pan. He fell, and in trying to save himself he clutched at the
garments hanging from the hooks. The cloth gave. The pommel of the
Chevalier's rapier hit him in the forehead, cutting and dazing him. He
rose