tures. "But, I say again, you have chosen a strange time to give it,
young sir. Moreover, your name is new to me, and I do not know your
face."

"Nor need you," said Bazan.

"Ay, but I think I need, craving your pardon," replied the tall, spare
man with some sternness. "I am not wont to be scared by little things,
nor will I give any man the right to say that he has frightened me with
a lighted turnip."

"Will it convince you if I tell you that I came hither to kill you?" the
young man cried impetuously.

"Yes, if you will say also why you did not--at least try?" Crillon
answered drily.

Bazan had not meant to explain himself; he had proposed to give his
warning, and to go. But on the impulse of the moment, carried away by
his excitement, he spoke, and told the story, and Crillon, after
leading him aside, so that a building sheltered them from the rain,
listened. He listened, who knew all the dark plans, all the scandals,
all the jealousies, all the vile or frantic schemings of a court, that,
half French, half Italian, mingled so grimly force and fraud. Nay, when
all was told, when Bazan, passing lightly over the resolution he had
formed to warn the victim instead of attacking him, came suddenly and
lamely to a stop, he still for a time stood silent. At last, "And what
will you do now, my friend?" he asked.

"Go back," the young man answered.

"And then?"

"Pay my debt."

The courtier swore a great oath--it was his failing--and with sudden
violence he seized his companion by the arm, and hurried him into the
roadway, and along the street. "To Simon's!" he muttered. "To Simon's,
my friend. I know the place. I will cut that villain Berthaud's throat."

"But what shall I be the better of that?" the young man answered,
somewhat bitterly. "I have none the less lost, and must pay."

Crillon stopped short, the darkness hiding alike his face and his
feelings. "So!" he said slowly, "I did not think of that! No, I did not
think of that. But do you mean it? What, if I kill him?"

"I have played for my life, and lost," Bazan answered proudly. "I
promised, and I am a gentleman."

"Pheugh!" Crillon whistled. He swore again, and stood. He was a great
man, and full of expedients, but the position was novel. Yet, after a
minute's thought, he had an idea. He started off again, taking Bazan's
arm, and impelling him onwards, with the same haste and violence. "To
Simon's! to Simon's!" he cried as before. "Courage, my friend