him arrange for their
escape.

"I told that police fellow," he went on very mildly, "that I was ready
to go with you to Sonnay, where the Prefect, of course, is the right
person to deal with any suspected conspiracy. I also told him, and I
tell you, that I will not have my house searched without the Prefect's
warrant."

"And pray, how are you going to prevent it?" said Ratoneau, staring at
him.

"Try it, and you will see," said Monsieur Joseph.

"Your nephew is shut up there, I know. He is taking care of his bride,
and is afraid to come out and face me," said Ratoneau, with a frightful
grin. "He will not dare to resist by force--miserable little coward!"

"All this shall be paid for by and by," Monsieur Joseph said to himself,
consolingly. Aloud he said, "It happens that my nephew is not there,
Monsieur le General."

"Not there! where are they gone then? I believe that is a lie."

Monsieur Joseph bowed politely, with his hand on his sword.

"Allow me to remark, Monsieur le General Ratoneau, that you are a cheat
and a coward."

Ratoneau turned purple, and almost choked.

"Monsieur! You dare to use such words to me! I shall call my men up,
and--"

"Call the whole of the usurper's army," said Monsieur Joseph, with
unearthly coolness. "As they follow him they may follow you, his
pasteboard image. But I am quite of your opinion, my words need
explanation. I see through you, Monsieur le General. You tried to cheat
the Comte de Sainfoy out of his daughter, whom he had refused you. And I
am sure now, that my nephew's arrest the other day was a scoundrelly
piece of cheating, a satisfaction of your private spite, a means of
getting him out of your way. Yes, I see through you now. A fine specimen
of an Imperial officer, bribing police spies to carry out his private
malice. Coward and cheat! Defend yourself!"

Both swords were out, and the fight began instantly. The steel clashed
and darted lightly, flashing back the rising day. It was no ordinary
duel, no mere satisfaction of honour, though each might have had the
right to demand this of the other. It was a quarrel of life and death,
personal hatred that must slay or be slain.

Monsieur Joseph, with all his grace and amiability, had the passionate
nature of old France; his instincts were primitive and simple; he
longed, and his longing had become irresistible, to send a villain out
of the world. Perhaps, too, in Ratoneau's overbearing swagger, he saw
and felt an