"What is all this mystery?" cried De Rilly, jovially, rising and coming over to me, while the man who had opened the door, and who was evidently the host, closed it and moved away. "Come, warm yourself with a bottle! Why, my friend, you are as white as a ghost, and you look as if you had been perspiring blood!"
"I must go, at once, De Rilly. It is a serious matter."
"Then hang me if I don't come, too!" he said, suddenly sobered, and he grasped his cloak and sword. "That is, unless I should be de trop."
"Come. I thank you," I said; and we left the place together.
"Whose blood is it?" asked De Rilly, as we hurried along the narrow street, back to the house.
"That of M. de Noyard."
"What? A duel?"
"A kind of duel,—a strange mistake!
"The devil! Won't the Queen-mother give thanks! And won't the Duke of
Guise be angry!"
"M. de Noyard is not dead yet. His wound may not be fatal."