“And you obey that, or do you refuse? If you refuse, I will order your own men to arrest you,” said the Vicomte.
“I have no option but to obey.”
“Very well! Call off your guard from the door! And to-morrow the King will know what a servant he has in you.”
Richelieu was no coward, and the stinging words of Cipierre’s voice raised the man to fury. He put his hand to the hilt of his sword, and then, recollecting himself, withdrew it slowly; but it was in a voice that trembled with passion that he answered:
“Monsieur le Vicomte, I obey the King’s signet. These gentlemen are free. But you, monsieur—I have a word with you——”
“Tush, man!” and Cipierre broke in roughly upon his speech. “You think you are in a tavern. I cannot cross swords with you. The difference between us is too great. Come! Call off your guards!”
And Richelieu did as he was bidden without another word. In passing out, however, I had my opportunity. “Monsieur,” I said, “I shall be pleased to hear the word you intended for Monsieur le Vicomte.”
A dark flush came on his face. “In another place,” he answered.
“In your own place, and at your own time, monsieur. I commend myself to you,” and with a slight bow we separated.
“They will do their utmost to get the pardon recalled to-morrow,” said Marcilly, as we trotted down the silent square of Ste. Croix.