t to trail a sword as any kinsman of the Prince de
Gonzague." He paused, and then added, not unpityingly: "I would rather
beat you than kill you."

Chavernay was scarcely to be appeased in this fashion. Something in
Lagardere's carriage, something in his voice, convinced the little
marquis that his enemy was speaking the truth, and that he was, indeed, a
gentleman. "Braggart!" he cried, and, drawing his sword, he struck
Lagardere across the breast with the flat of his blade.

Lagardere was quite unmoved by the affront. Leisurely he drew his sword
and leisurely fell into position, saying, "Very well, then."

The swords engaged for a moment--only for a moment. Then, to the surprise
and rage of Chavernay, his hand and his sword parted company, and the
sword, a glittering line of steel, leaped into the air and fell to earth
many feet away from him. Even as this happened, Gabrielle, who had been
watching with horror the quarrel from behind her curtains, came running
down the Inn stairs and darted through the door into the open.

She turned to Lagardere, appealing: "Do not hurt him, Henri; he is but a
child."

The little marquis frowned. He disliked to be regarded as a pitiable
juvenile. "If the gentleman will return me my sword," he said, "I will
not lose it again so lightly."

Lagardere looked at him with kind-hearted compassion. "If I returned you
your sword twenty times," he said, "its fate would be twenty times the
same. Take your sword and use it hereafter to defend women, not to insult
them."

While he was speaking he had stepped to where Chavernay's blade lay on
the sward, and had picked it up, and now, as he made an end of speaking,
he handed Chavernay the rapier. Chavernay took it, and sent it home in
its sheath half defiantly. "Fair lady, I ask your pardon," he said,
bowing very reverentially to Gabrielle. "Let me call myself ever your
servant." He turned and gave Lagardere a salutation that was more hostile
than amiable, and then recrossed the bridge in his airiest manner as one
that is a lord of fortune. Lagardere stood silent, almost gloomy, looking
at the ground. Gabrielle regarded him for a moment timidly, and then,
advancing, softly placed a hand upon his shoulder.

"You are not angry with me?" she whispered.

Lagardere turned to her and forced himself to smile cheerfully.
"Angry--with you? How could that be possible?" He was silent for a
moment, then he asked: "Do you know that gentleman?"

Gabri