"If you are bent upon that—I am Viscount Jean Dubarry."
"What, brother of that notorious——"
"Who will send you to rot in the Bastille prison, if you add a word to the adjective."
The viscount sprang into the coach, up to the door of which went the baron's son.
"If you do not come forth in a second I give you my word of honor that I shall run my sword through your body."
Having hold of the door with his left hand, pulling against the viscount, he drew his sword with the other.
"The idea!" said Chon; "this is murder. Give up the horses, Jean."
"Oh, you threaten me, do you?" hissed the viscount, exasperated, and snatching his sword from the cushion.
"We shall never get away at this rate," whispered Chon; "do smooth the officer down."
"Neither violence nor gentleness will stay me in my duty," observed Taverney, politely bowing to the young woman. "Advise obedience to the gentleman, or in the name of the king, whom I represent, I shall kill him if he will fight me, or arrest him if he refuses."