"What is the meaning of all this?" cried Chaumonot.
"Tell him, Monsieur le Chevalier," laughed the vicomte; "tell him!"
The Chevalier was mute; but his chest heaved and his eyes glowed with a terrible fury.
"Monsieur," continued the vicomte, "you and I will step outside. There is moonlight."
"You will do nothing of the sort, Monsieur le Vicomte," said Brother Jacques coolly.
"I will brook no interference from priests!" declared the vicomte. His calm was gradually leaving him. But before he could prevent it, Brother Jacques had whipped out the vicomte's rapier and had broken it across his knee. "Curse you, you meddling Jesuit!" He wrenched loose a hand and struck Brother Jacques violently in the face.
Brother Jacques caught the wrist. "He grows profane," he said blandly. "Be quiet, Monsieur, or I will break your wrist so badly that you will never be able to handle a sword again."
The vicomte in his rage struck out with the other hand, but the young priest was too quick for him. Both the vicomte's wrists were imprisoned as securely as though bauds of iron encircled them. He struggled for a space, then became still.
"That is more sensible," Brother Jacques said smoothly.
"In Heaven's name, Paul," cried Victor, "what does this all mean?"