"Then it comes to this: you, a stranger in Amboise, are to arrest a stranger to yourself for an offence of which you are ignorant?"
"With my orders clear and explicit I have no need of knowledge."
"Is this order public property at Valmy?"
"No one knows of it except myself and the King," replied Beaufoy, clinging desperately to the remnants of his authority.
The other nodded abstractedly, his thoughts busy elsewhere. He quite recognized the type of man with whom he had to do—light-hearted, careless, frivolous even up to a certain point, but beyond that immovable. To question further would be useless, and almost in violation of the strange code of honour which permitted unscrupulous violence but respected the right of reticence in an equal—in an equal, be it observed; an inferior had no rights, none whatever.
"'Bring him to Valmy.'" Turning in his saddle he beckoned to one of his followers, a man older than the rest, shrewd-faced and grizzled. "What do you think, Perrault; can we do it?"
"Enter Amboise?"
"Enter Valmy."
But Beaufoy could control himself no longer. "Monsieur, whoever you are, I demand back the King's order. These instructions are for me alone and I must——"
"What? More musts? No, no, you have done all a man of honour can do—except hold your tongue and acknowledge the inevitable. Jan and Michault, take Monsieur Beaufoy into the field yonder, but quietly, courteously."