“We settle this matter here and now,” Marius answered him, in a tone of calm finality.
“But if I were to kill you—” Florimond began.
“Reassure yourself,” said Marius with an ugly smile.
“Very well, then; either alternative will suit the case I wish to put. If you were to kill me—it may be ranked as murder. The irregularity of it could not be overlooked.”
“The captain, here, will act for both of us.”
“I am entirely at your service, gentlemen,” replied Fortunio pleasantly, bowing to each in turn.
Florimond considered him. “I do not like his looks,” he objected. “He may be the friend of your bosom, Marius; you may have no secrets from him; but for my part, frankly, I should prefer the presence of some friend of my own to keep his blade engaged.”
The Marquis’s manner was affable in the extreme. Now that it was settled that they must fight, he appeared to have cast aside all scruples based upon their consanguinity, and he discussed the affair with the greatest bonhomie, as though he were disposing of a matter of how they should sit down to table.
It gave them pause. The change was too abrupt. They did not like it. It was as the calm that screens some surprise. Yet it was impossible he should have been forewarned; impossible he could have had word of how they proposed to deal with him.
Marius shrugged his shoulders.