"By God, you mean her!"
"Mlle. de Varion," he answered, never quailing.
Filled with a great wrath, my powers of thought for the time paralyzed, my mind capable of no perception, but that of mademoiselle's sweetness and purity opposed to this horrible charge of black treason, I could answer only:
"Then the devil is no more the king of liars, unless you are the devil! Come, Monsieur de Berquin, I will show you what I think of the service you would do me!"
With drawn sword in hand, I walked across the courtyard and pointed to the way leading around the side of the château to an open space in one part of the garden. I knew that there we should not be interrupted.
As I waited for De Berquin to precede me, I chanced to look at Blaise. A strange, thoughtful expression was on his face. He, too, stood quite still.
De Berquin looked at my face for a moment longer, then seemed to realize the hopelessness of his attempt to make me credit his accusation, shrugged his shoulders and said, courteously:
"As you will, monsieur!"
And he walked before me around the side of the château to the bare space in the garden. Blaise, having received no orders, did not presume to follow.
We took off our doublets and other encumbrances, De Berquin raising his sheathed sword and very gracefully unsheathing by throwing the scabbard off into the air, so that it fell some distance away in the garden.