He leaned across the
table and said in a very low voice to Wetter:

"Sir, his Majesty is the only gentleman in Forstadt who can not resent
an insult."

I recollect well little Madame Briande's pale face, as she half rose
from her seat with clasped hands. Coralie still smiled. Vohrenlorf was
red and fierce, with his hand on the hilt of his sword. Varvilliers was
calm, cool, polished in demeanour.

For a moment or two Wetter sat silent, his eyes intently fixed on the
Vicomte's face. Then he said in a tone as low as Varvilliers' had been:

"I think his Majesty remembers his disabilities too late--or has them
remembered for him."

Vohrenlorf rose to his feet, carried away by anger and excitement.

"Sir----" he cried loudly.

"Vohrenlorf, be quiet. Sit down," said I. "M. Wetter is right."

None spoke. Even Coralie seemed affected to gravity; or was it that we
had touched the spring of her dramatic instinct? After a few minutes I
turned to Madame Briande and introduced some indifferent topic. I spoke
alone and found no answer. Coralie was now regarding me with obvious
curiosity.

"The air of this room is hot," said I. "Shouldn't we be better in the
other? If the ladies will lead the way, we'll follow immediately."

"I'm very well here," said Coralie.

"Oblige me," said I, rising and myself opening the door that led to the
inner room.

After a moment's hesitation Coralie passed out, and madame followed her.
I closed the door behind them and, turning, faced the three men. Wetter
stood alone by the mantelpiece; the others were still near the table.

"In everything but the moment of his remark M. Wetter was right," said
I. "I didn't remember in time that I am not placed as other men; I will
not remember it now. Varvilliers, you mustn't be concerned in this.
Vohrenlorf, I put myself in your hands."

"Good God, you won't fight?" cried Varvilliers.

"Vohrenlorf will do for me what he would for any gentleman who put
himself in his hands," said I.

The position was too hard for young Vohrenlorf. He sank into a chair and
covered his face with his hands. "No, no, I can't," he muttered. Wetter
stood still as a rock, looking not at any of us, but down toward the
floor. Varvilliers drank a glass of wine and then wiped his mustache
carefully with a napkin.

"Your Majesty," said he, "will not do me the injustice to suppose that
I am not in everything and most readily at your command. But I would beg
the honour of repre