he long cane from which Pantaloon is inseparable.

"Infamous scoundrel!" he roared. "You have ruined me! But, name of a
name, you shall pay!"

Andre-Louis turned to face him. "You confuse cause with effect," said
he. But he got no farther... Binet's cane, viciously driven, descended
and broke upon his shoulder. Had he not moved swiftly aside as the blow
fell it must have taken him across the head, and possibly stunned him.
As he moved, he dropped his hand to his pocket, and swift upon the
cracking of Binet's breaking cane came the crack of the pistol with
which Andre-Louis replied.

"You had your warning, you filthy pander!" he cried. And on the word he
shot him through the body.

Binet went down screaming, whilst the fierce Polichinelle, fiercer than
ever in that moment of fierce reality, spoke quickly into Andre-Louis'
ear:

"Fool! So much was not necessary! Away with you now, or you'll leave
your skin here! Away with you!"

Andre-Louis thought it good advice, and took it. The gentlemen who had
followed Binet in that punitive rush upon the stage, partly held in
check by the improvised weapons of the players, partly intimidated by
the second pistol that Scaramouche presented, let him go. He gained
the wings, and here found himself faced by a couple of sergeants of the
watch, part of the police that was already invading the theatre with a
view to restoring order. The sight of them reminded him unpleasantly
of how he must stand towards the law for this night's work, and more
particularly for that bullet lodged somewhere in Binet's obese body. He
flourished his pistol.

"Make way, or I'll burn your brains!" he threatened them, and
intimidated, themselves without firearms, they fell back and let him
pass. He slipped by the door of the green-room, where the ladies of the
company had shut themselves in until the storm should be over, and so
gained the street behind the theatre. It was deserted. Down this he went
at a run, intent on reaching the inn for clothes and money, since it was
impossible that he should take the road in the garb of Scaramouche.

BOOK III: THE SWORD

CHAPTER I. TRANSITION

"You may agree," wrote Andre-Louis from Paris to Le Chapelier, in a
letter which survives, "that it is to be regretted I should definitely
have discarded the livery of Scaramouche, since clearly there could be
no livery fitter for my wear. It seems to be my part always to stir up
strife and then to slip away b