r ached before. However, by
dint of threats and entreaties, they succeeded in silencing her; and
none too soon, for a brisk step was heard approaching, and the next
moment a gay voice soliloquised close beside them:

"By the light of the moon I should say I had arrived a little early.
Time for reflection, however. It is always well to give a thought to
one's chances in the next world just before a fight."

As he spoke he took his stand within a few feet of where the girls were
concealed, and began his reflections on the world at whose portals he
was standing, by trolling a gay drinking song. When it was finished he
recklessly dashed into a Spanish ditty, commemorating the defeat of King
Francis at Pavia. In this he was interrupted by an angry voice at his
elbow:

"A pleasing pastime for a son of France--to sing the glory of her
foes!"

"So ho!" replied La Pommeraye cheerfully, "Monsieur's anger has not yet
cooled. I had never a thought of the words--it was the air that carried
me away, and, perhaps, the fine description the song gives of King
Francis' stand on that fatal day. No one joys in and yet regrets that
fight more than I do. I won my spurs in it, and I am here to defend them
to-night. But how does the fair one on whose account we meet? 'Tis a
pity she should not be here to witness her lover's doughty deeds a
second time."

"Villain!" came the indignant answer, "before you utter any further
insults, know that you speak of Mdlle. de Roberval, my niece, whose name
your vile lips are not worthy so much as to pronounce. Draw, and defend
your life!"

"I trust the Sieur de Roberval will pardon my error," said La Pommeraye,
drawing back with a bow, while his whole air changed to one of
respectful deference. "Had I known the circumstances, I should not have
been so ready to offer you the second contest. In the light of the moon
I mistook your years. Your skill with the sword is, I am aware, justly
renowned, but my youth and strength give me the advantage. Accept my
humble apologies, Sieur, and let us end this quarrel without blows. I
will leave St Malo at once, and you shall not be reminded by my presence
of this most unfortunate affair."

The nobleman's voice was fairly choked with rage.

"Draw, coward!" he hissed. "It is not enough that you must insult, in
the person of an unprotected girl, the oldest name in France, but you
dare to taunt with age and unskilfulness a man whose sword is
dishonoured by being c