"Eh? What's that? Ladies? Murder? What do you mean?" cried the Abbé, affecting not to notice the ridicule.
"Permit me to give your gentlemen the word," interposed Henri, "and these popinjays shall soon be cleared from your path."
"The popinjays will take some time to clear!" remarked Armand laughing. "I am not acquainted with any law which gives a private citizen, even though he be a prospective cardinal, sole right to the streets of Paris."
Now my cousin Henri was not noted for his lamb-like temper, so, without waiting for the Abbé's commands, he drew his sword and rushed at D'Arçy, crying, "On guard!"
Another instant and the Rue Michel would have become the scene of fierce combat, but, unseen by us, a stranger quietly pushed his way through the crowd, and placed himself without the least hesitation between the combatants. I gazed at him with interest. He was a tall, finely-built man, with a long, flowing beard, and the most resolute face I had yet beheld in Paris. His eyes were bright, shrewd, and piercing, his chin was square and firm, every line of his features betokened power and the habit of command. Looking at him one was tempted to exclaim, "Here at least is a man!"
He wore the long robe of a councillor, and carried no weapon, but he would have been a daring man who attacked him. The danger in which he stood troubled him not at all; he did not seem even to be aware of it.
"Put up your swords, gentlemen," he said quietly, and as if quite sure that no one would question his right to command. Then, turning to De Retz he added in the same cool tones, "Monsieur l'Abbé, I am surprised you have not sufficient influence to prevent a breach of the peace! It ill becomes a dignitary of the Church to be taking part in a street brawl."
I can hardly imagine that De Retz was awed by the speaker—perhaps he had private reasons for avoiding a quarrel with this strong, purposeful man: at least he showed no offence at the rebuke, and not only requested Henri to sheathe his sword, but actually offered a half apology for the quarrel, which really was none of his seeking.
"One must always yield to the ladies!" he exclaimed gallantly, and, with a courteous bow to the stranger, ordered his coach to be turned back.
"Who is he?" I asked Raoul, as the peacemaker, after scolding D'Arçy for his rudeness, and bidding him be less hasty in future, withdrew.