Not a man among them all but felt the ice of a chill strike his spine at the sound of the Chevalier's voice. Every head in the room turned.
"Recognize?" The vicomte looked from the hand to the owner's face upon which lay a purpose as calm and relentless as it was deadly. "Recognize? What do you mean, Monsieur?"
The Chevalier answered with a repellent laugh. "Your economy does you credit; you have sold me to a drunken corporal for ten pieces of silver." With a swift movement he flung the silver into the vicomte's upturned face.
The vicomte covered his face with his hands and sprang to his feet. But no sound escaped him. When he withdrew his hands his lips were bleeding and there were blue ridges on his cheeks and forehead.
Confusion. Priests and soldiers and adventurers gathered quickly around. Du Puys took the Chevalier by the shoulders and pressed him back from the table, while Brother Jacques threw his arms around the vicomte. Only the Chevalier and the victim of his rage were apparently calm.
"Are you mad, Chevalier?" demanded Du Puys. "What the devil!"
"Be seated, Messieurs," said the vicomte, wiping his lips. "You are all witnesses to this unprovoked assault. There can be but one result. You shall die, Monsieur," to the Chevalier.
"It is possible." The Chevalier brushed aside Du Puys's hands and tried to reach his sword.
"I will have one or the other of you shot, or both of you," roared Du Puys. But his heart was not in his voice.
"That is a small matter," said the Chevalier.