“It may be, as you say, a fool’s errand, M. le Vicomte,” he answered. “Should it prove so, this liar will lose his head. But should it appear that he spoke truth,”—he paused, his eyes still on d’Aurilly,—“should it appear that he spoke truth, it will not be his head that falls. In either case, a spy and traitor will get his dues.”
D’Aurilly’s eyes were on the floor, but he kept countenance well.
“I am quite ready for the test, M. le Comte,” he said quietly. “Nothing will delight me more than to see a traitor get his dues.”
“Nor me,” assented M. le Comte, and looked at him a moment longer. Then he turned again to his men with fire in his eyes. “Arm yourselves, Messieurs!” he cried. “In twenty minutes we must be en route to Cadillac. Should this dog of a Roquefort, who dares fight only women, have been there before us, we will follow him even to his den in the Pyrenees and drag him forth like the cur he is! À outrance!”
They heard him with gleaming eyes and mantling cheeks. I could hear their swords rattling, eager to leap from the sheath. The lust of blood was on them, and they caught up the cry as their master ended.
“À outrance!”
Up and down the corridors it echoed as they rushed for the door, cheering, shouting, cursing. They bore the news along the hall and out into the court, whence, in a moment, again came the cry,—
“À outrance!”
And the good people of Montauban, hearing it, hurried to their homes and barred their doors, for they knew that the hounds of Cadillac were loose again.