'You mock me, Count; never, while subject to your surveillance—never, while a prisoner in Phalsbourg.'
'Peste! we shall see that,' replied De Bitche, with a coarse laugh, as he twisted up his moustache, and continued to speak in this style, amusing himself with my situation, as a cat plays with the mouse it means to devour; 'you love Mademoiselle de Lorraine?' said he, with mock softness.
'You are the last man in the world to whom I would make any such admission. Neither do I wish to hear her name from your polluted lips.'
'Mighty well, mon brave!' said he, with flashing eyes; 'we shall see how long this gallant bearing lasts. You would do anything to serve mademoiselle; you would even lay down your life to insure the happiness of hers, I presume?'
'I would—Heaven knows I would, with joy!'
'Oh! 'tis a mere trifle that, when we love a woman; so I shall give you, my dear fellow, an opportunity of performing that pretty trifle.'
'What do you mean, M. le Comte?' said I, making a step towards him; but he placed the table between himself and me, and kept a hand on his pistols.
'You shall see. But ha! what is that?'
'A shot—another and another!' I exclaimed with joy, as we heard three dropping and distant shots. Then followed the closer rattle of musketry, and the sound of a drum beaten rapidly.
'And now hark! My fellows answer from the tête-du-point; your comrades have come within range; they are, I repeat, most welcome to Phalsbourg. Anon I will be with them. And now for you: mademoiselle knows your handwriting?'