“A fool’s lie,” retorted Gering, in a low, angry voice, and spilled his wine.
At that Iberville’s heart thumped in his throat with anger, and the roof of his mouth became dry; never in his life had he been called a liar. The first time that insult strikes a youth of spirit he goes a little mad.
But he was very quiet—an ominous sort of quietness, even in a boy. He got to his feet and leaned over the table, speaking in words that dropped on the silence like metal: “Monsieur, there is but one answer.”
At this point Morris, roused from his elaborate musings, caught, not very clearly, at the meaning of it all. But he had not time to see more, for just then he was called by the governor, and passed into the room where Mammon, for the moment, perched like a leering, little dwarf upon the shoulders of adventurous gentlemen grown avaricious on a sudden.
“Monsieur, there is but one way. Well?” repeated Iberville.
“I am ready,” replied Gering, also getting to his feet. The Frenchman was at once alive to certain difficulties. He knew that an envoy should not fight, and that he could ask no one to stand his second; also that it would not be possible to arrange a formal duel between opposites so young as Gering and himself. He sketched this briefly, and the Bostonian nodded moody assent. “Come, then,” said Iberville, “let us find a place. My sword is at my hand. Yours?”
“Mine is not far off,” answered Gering sullenly. Iberville forbore to point a moral, but walked to the mantel, above which hung two swords of finest steel, with richly-chased handles. He had noted them as soon as he had entered the room. “By the governor’s leave,” he said, and took them down. “Since we are to ruffle him let him furnish the spurs—eh? Shall we use these, and so be even as to weapons? But see,” he added, with a burst of frankness, “I am in a—a trouble.” It was not easy on the instant to find the English word. He explained the duties of his mission. It was singular to ask his enemy that he should see his papers handed to Count Frontenac if he were killed, but it was characteristic of him.
“I will see the papers delivered,” said Gering, with equal frankness.
“That is, if by some miraculous chance I should be killed,” added Iberville. “But I have other ends in view.”
“I have only one end in view,” retorted Gering. “But wait,” he said, as they neared the door leading into the main hall; “we may be seen. There is another way into the grounds through a little hall here.” He turned and opened a door almost as small as a panel. “I was shown this secret door the other day, and since ours is a secret mission let us use it.”