“Upon my honor, monsieur,” replied De Guiche, “it is six months since I last practiced.”
“No, comte, after due reflection, I will not fight, at least, with you. I will await Bragelonne’s return, since you say it is Bragelonne who finds fault with me.”
“Oh no, indeed! You shall not wait until Bragelonne’s return,” exclaimed the comte, losing all command over himself, “for you have said that Bragelonne might, possibly, be some time before he returns; and, in the meanwhile, your wicked insinuations would have had their effect.”
“Yet, I shall have my excuse. So take care.”
“I will give you a week to finish your recovery.”
“That is better. We will wait a week.”
“Yes, yes, I understand; a week will give time to my adversary to make his escape. No, no; I will not give you one day, even.”
“You are mad, monsieur,” said De Wardes, retreating a step.
“And you are a coward, if you do not fight willingly. Nay, what is more, I will denounce you to the king, as having refused to fight, after having insulted La Valliere.”
“Ah!” said De Wardes, “you are dangerously treacherous, though you pass for a man of honor.”