"I am quite willing, and it will not take long," retorted Bois-Doré. "I said that you were a brigand, an assassin and a thief. You desire more, but I can find nothing worse to say of you than the bare truth."
"You pay me strange compliments, monsieur le marquis!" said the Spaniard coolly. "You have already regaled me, under your own roof, with a lugubrious tale wherein you were pleased to represent me as the slayer of your brother. Whether I am or not, I do not know, as I told you; I simply know that I bade my servant kill a man dressed as a peddler, who was carrying away by force a lady whose defence I took upon myself, as I told you, and whose honor I avenged."
"Oho!" cried the marquis, "that is your text now, is it? The lady who was flying with my brother was abducted against her will, and you don't remember saying that she was your——"
"Lower, monsieur, I beg you. If Monsieur d'Ars will kindly listen to me a few steps away from here, I will tell him who that woman was, unless you prefer to vilify and besmirch her name before your servants."
"My servants are better men than you and yours, monsieur! No matter! I am exceedingly desirous that you should impart your secret to Monsieur d'Ars, but in my presence, as you have already given me one version of it."
The three walked away from the group, and the marquis spoke first.
"Come," he said, "explain yourself! You allege as your defence that that woman was your sister!"
"And do you, monsieur," retorted D'Alvimar, "propose to vent your factitious rage by giving me the lie again?"
"By no means, monsieur. I ask you to tell us your sister's name; for it seems that your own name is not Villareal."
"Why so, monsieur?"