I'll have him
skinned alive before I let him go."

Mirindol was just about leaving the room, when the entrance of the
newcomer rooted him to the spot; he was so astonished and alarmed that
he could not move hand or foot. And no wonder, for it was no other
than the hero whose name he had just spoken--Jacquemin Lampourde in
person--and the bare fact of his having dared to penetrate so boldly
into the dread presence of that high and mighty seignior, the Duke of
Vallombreuse, ignoring entirely the agent through whom his services had
been engaged, showed of itself that something very extraordinary must
have taken place.

Lampourde himself did not seem to be in the least disconcerted, and
after winking at his friend furtively in a very knowing way, stood
unabashed before the duke, with the bright light of the many wax candles
shining full upon his face. There was a red mark across his forehead,
where his hat had been pressed down over it, and great drops of sweat
stood on it, as if he had been running fast, or exercising violently.
His eyes, of a bluish gray tint, with a sort of metallic lustre in
them, were fixed upon those of the haughty young nobleman, with a calm
insolence that made Merindol's blood run cold in his veins; his large
nose, whose shadow covered all one side of his face, as the shadow of
Mount Etna covers a considerable portion of the island of Sicily, stood
out prominently, almost grotesquely, in profile; his mustache, with its
long stiff points carefully waxed, which produced exactly the effect of
an iron skewer stuck through his upper lip, and the "royal" on his chin
curled upward, like a comma turned the wrong way, all contributed to
make up a very extraordinary physiognomy, such as caricaturists dote on.
He wore a large scarlet cloak, wrapped closely about his erect, vigorous
form, and in one hand, which he extended towards the duke, he held
suspended a well filled purse--a strange and mysterious proceeding which
Mirindol could by no means understand.

"Well, you rascal," said the duke, after staring for a moment in
astonishment at this odd-looking specimen, "what does this mean? Are you
offering alms to me, pray, or what? with your purse there held out at
arm's length, apparently for my acceptance."

"In the first place, my lord duke," said Lampourde, with perfect
sang-froid and gravity, "may it not displease your highness, but I am
not a rascal. My name is Jacquemin Lampourde, and I ply the sword f