"What is this?" shouted Amar. "Open, I say, in the name of the law!"
"Not I." And François, with a quick motion, threw off the sheath of the rapier. It fell with a great clatter on the far side of the room.
"Open, I say!"
At this moment Ste. Luce came across the hall.
"What the deuce is all this, François?"
Amar turned his square shoulders, and looked at the marquis.
"I presume thee, too, to be one of this rascal Gamel's band. If thou dost think I, Pierre Amar, am afraid of thee, thou art going to find out thy mistake. What is thy name?"
"Go to the devil!" cried the marquis. The Jacobin darted toward the window; but François was too quick for him, and instantly had him by the collar, the point of the rapier touching his back. "Move a step, and thou art a dead man." The face, crooked with passion, half turned over the shoulder.
"Misery! What a beauty! Didst thou think I valued my head so little as to trust thee, scum of the devil's dish-water?" For some reason this huge animal filled François with rage, and he poured out a flood of the abusive slang of the Cité as the marquis came up.
"Drop that window-curtain!" said the thief. "And now, what to do, monsieur?"