y me."

"I do defy you, for you are known to be an evil-minded man; if you do
that, you will be looked upon as a coward, too; and Monsieur would have
you hanged, this evening, at his window-casement. Speak, my dear De
Wardes, speak."

"I have fought already."

"But not quite enough, yet."

"I see, you would not be sorry to fight with me while my wounds are
still open."

"No; better still."

"The deuce! you are unfortunate in the moment you have chosen; a duel,
after the one I have just fought, would hardly suit me; I have lost too
much blood at Boulogne; at the slightest effort my wounds would open
again, and you would really have too good a bargain."

"True," said De Guiche; "and yet, on your arrival here, your looks and
your arms showed there was nothing the matter with you."

"Yes, my arms are all right, but my legs are weak; and then, I have not
had a foil in my hand since that devil of a duel; and you, I am sure,
have been fencing every day, in order to carry your little conspiracy
against me to a successful issue."

"Upon my honor, monsieur," replied De Guiche, "it is six months since I
last practiced."

"No, comte, after due reflection, I will not fight, at least, with you.
I will await Bragelonne's return, since you say it is Bragelonne who
finds fault with me."

"Oh no, indeed! You shall not wait until Bragelonne's return," exclaimed
the comte, losing all command over himself, "for you have said that
Bragelonne might, possibly, be some time before he returns; and, in the
meanwhile, your wicked insinuations would have had their effect."

"Yet, I shall have my excuse. So take care."

"I will give you a week to finish your recovery."

"That is better. We will wait a week."

"Yes, yes, I understand; a week will give time to my adversary to make
his escape. No, no; I will not give you one day, even."

"You are mad, monsieur," said De Wardes, retreating a step.

"And you are a coward, if you do not fight willingly. Nay, what is
more, I will denounce you to the king, as having refused to fight, after
having insulted La Valliere."

"Ah!" said De Wardes, "you are dangerously treacherous, though you pass
for a man of honor."

"There is nothing more dangerous than the treachery, as you term it, of
the man whose conduct is always loyal and upright."

"Restore me the use of my legs, then, or get yourself bled, till you are
as white as I am, so as to equalize our chances."

"No, no; I have somethi