nt none."

"Why?"

Under my questions Jacques turned red and pale, then he blundered out:

"The Chevalier de la Mora said he would bring the answer to you
himself--at the shore."

He kept his eyes fast riveted upon another hole he was digging in the
sand.

"The--Chevalier?" I knew what that meant. Great God! and this was the
end of it all.

"Tell me, you bungling fool, what knows he of this?"

"Pardon, Master; I thought no harm of it; you had never before employed
me on such an errand."

It was now my own turn to seek the ground with my eyes, so just, so
humble was the rebuke.

"I thought no harm of it, sir, and gave it to Madame in the garden; she
called upon the Chevalier to read it for her."

"What said he? To her? Was he violent?"

"No sir, most polite; terribly polite, and cool; but, master, you must
not meet him; he will kill you."

Of this I had scant doubt.

"Did he make no sign as if he would do her harm?"

"No, sir, not then, but he looked so queer one could hardly say what he
meditated. I would not care to have him look at me like that."

I was paralyzed by the suddenness of the ill-fortune which had
befallen, but I was to be allowed no day of grace in which to plan a
line of conduct. My face had been turned all this while toward the
sea, there being something soothing to me about the long, even sweep of
those bright, blue waters in the south.

Jacques faced the town. I noted a deprecatory gesture, and following
his gaze saw the Chevalier himself coming our way at a good round pace.
My knees did quake, and the veriest poltroon might have well been
ashamed of the overweening fear which possessed me. In defense of
which I may say, I believe it was due in large part to my great respect
and fondness for de la Mora, as well as a deep consciousness of the
justice of his cause. From long habit I looked first to my weapons,
but for once felt no joy in them.

"Captain de Mouret," he greeted me with a soldier's formal courtesy.

"Chevalier de la Mora."

"Captain, I have the honor to return to you a note which I believe
bears your name," and he handed me the unfortunate billet.

"Am I right? Is that your hand?"

I scorned to lie, and answered him evenly;

"It is."

"Is that note properly directed? To Madame de la Mora?"

"It is, but--"

"Have you any explanation, sir, to offer?"

For the life of me I could think of nothing to say; I could not tell
him the truth, neither cou