Father Lubin, you swear like the king,' cried the Captain.

"I bet he would not swear in his sermon,' said Beville.

"'Why not, if the fancy took me?' stoutly retorted the Franciscan.

"'Ten pistoles you do not.'

"'Ten pistoles? Done.'

"'Beville,' cried the Captain, 'I go halves in your wager.'

"'No, no!' replied his friend, 'I will not share the reverend's money;
and if he wins, by my faith! I shall not regret mine. An oath in pulpit
is well worth ten pistoles.'

"'They are already won,' said Father Lubin; 'I begin my sermon with
three oaths. _Ah! Messieurs les Gentilhommes_, because you have rapier
on hip, and plume in hat, you would monopolise the talent of swearing.
We will see.'

"He left the sacristy, and in an instant was in his pulpit. There was
silence in the church. The preacher scanned the crowded congregation as
though seeking his bettor; and when he discovered him leaning against a
column exactly opposite the pulpit, he knit his brows, put his arms
akimbo, and in an angry tone thus began:

"'My dear Brethren,

"_'Par la vertu!--par la mort!--par le sang!'_--

"A murmur of surprise and indignation interrupted the preacher, or, it
were more correctly said, filled up the pause he intentionally left.

"---- 'de Dieu,' continued the Franciscan, in a devout nasal whine, 'we
are saved and delivered from punishment.'

"'A general burst of laughter interrupted him a second time. Beville
took his purse from his girdle, and shook it at the preacher, as an
admission that he had lost."

The sermon that follows is in character with its commencement. Whilst
awaiting its conclusion, Bernard de Mergy in vain seeks the Countess de
Turgis; it is only when leaving the church that his brother points her
out to him. She is escorted by a young man, of slight figure and
effeminate mien, dressed with studied negligence. This is the terrible
Count de Comminges, the duellist of the day, the chief of those
_raffines_ who fought on every pretext, and often on no pretext at all.
He had had nearly a hundred duels, and a challenge from him was held
equivalent to a ticket for the hospital, if not to sentence of death.
"Comminges once summoned a man to the Pre-aux-Clercs, then the classic
duelling-ground. They stripped off their doublets, and drew their
swords. 'Are you not Berny of Auvergne?' inquired Comminges. 'Certainly
not,' replied his antagonist; 'my name is Villequier, and I am from
Normandy.' 'So much the worse,