“I did say so.”
“Well, then, it was a lie!” said Bussy, jumping up from his chair; “you lied to yourself, monseigneur, for you do not believe a single word of what you say. There are twenty scars on my body, which prove the contrary. I never knew fear, and, ma foi, I know people who cannot say the same.”
“You have always unanswerable arguments, M. de Bussy,” cried the duke, turning very pale; “when you are accused, you cry louder than your accuser, and then you think you are right.”
“Oh! I am not always right, I know well, but I know on what occasions I am wrong.”
“And what are they?”
“When I serve ungrateful people.”
“Really, monsieur, I think you forget yourself,” said the duke, with some dignity. Bussy moved towards the door, but the prince stopped him.
“Do you deny, monsieur,” said he, “that after refusing to go out with me, you went out immediately after?”
“I deny nothing, monseigneur, but I will not be forced to confession.”
“Tell me why you would not go out with me.”