ntently, offered to try a bout
with me. And so amazed was he with the result, that he had not done
talking of it when I left Canaples a few hours later--a homage this that
earned me some more than ordinarily unfriendly glances from Yvonne.
No doubt since the accomplishment was mine it became in her eyes
characteristic of a bully and a ruffler.

During the week that followed I visited the chateau with regularity, and
with equal regularity did Andrea receive his fencing lessons. The object
of his presence at Canaples, however, was being frustrated more and more
each day, so far as the Cardinal and the Chevalier were concerned.

He raved to me of Genevieve, the one perfect woman in all the world and
brought into it by a kind Providence for his own particular delectation.
In truth, love is like a rabid dog--whom it bites it renders mad; so
open grew his wooing, and so ardent, that one evening I thought well to
take him aside and caution him.

"My dear Andrea," said I, "if you will love Genevieve, you will, and
there's an end of it. But if you would not have the Chevalier pack you
back to Paris and the anger of my Lord Cardinal, be circumspect, and at
least when M. de Canaples is by divide your homage equally betwixt
the two. 'T were well if you dissembled even a slight preference for
Yvonne--she will not be misled by it, seeing how unmistakable at all
other seasons must be your wooing of Genevieve."

He was forced to avow the wisdom of my counsel, and to be guided by it.

Nevertheless, I rode back to my hostelry in no pleasant frame of mind.
It was more than likely that a short shrift and a length of hemp
would be the acknowledgment I should anon receive from Mazarin for my
participation in the miscarriage of his desires.

I felt that disaster was on the wing. Call it a premonition; call it
what you will. I know but this; that as I rode into the courtyard of
the Lys de France, at dusk, the first man my eyes alighted on was the
Marquis Cesar de St. Auban, and, in conversation with him, six of the
most arrant-looking ruffians that ever came out of Paris.

CHAPTER IX. OF HOW A WHIP PROVED A BETTER ARGUMENT THAN A TONGUE

"I crave Monsieur's pardon, but there is a gentleman below who desires
to speak with you immediately."

"How does this gentleman call himself, M. l'Hote?"

"M. le Marquis de St. Auban," answered the landlord, still standing in
the doorway.

It wanted an hour or so to noon on the day followi