Then a clearness came into his eyes and with it a hardness about his mouth and jaws. He took one step forward and blazed a look of hate at our enemy.
“I know now, De Marsac,” he said, “why you have come among us. You planned this from the beginning.”
That other shifted his gaze and pointed to where the old Count of Gramont lay.
“You understand what this means?” he asked with a glare in his eyes.
“Better than you imagine,” answered my brother, with his voice lifting high among the trees. “By foul means young Charles of Gramont—that man’s son—was lured into a snare and carried off, a prisoner of him you choose to call your King. By fouler means still you crept into our house like a viper under pretense of hospitality. You picked a quarrel with me the moment you arrived, thinking you would kill me in the fight. You were thwarted in that. You tried to murder Henri there in the woods.” He cast a look in the direction of the old Count. A smile of scorn curled about his mouth when he faced De Marsac again. “The only plan of yours to succeed was in the slaying of an old man. Pshaw! I never dreamed a human being could stoop so low!”
A flush of wrath colored De Marsac’s face, but slowly died out to a dead white. With his eyes shifting and shining, I thought with murder in them, he flouted my brother once again.
“You are wasting words, my friend La Mar,” he sneered. “The whole brood of you is like a dying candle. It is hardly worth the snuffing out.”
My brother heard this with the coolness and firmness of a rock. When the last syllable of De Marsac’s scorn faded in the air, André planted his feet squarely on the ground. Then, with his open palm, he struck that other a stinging blow across the face.
“You have brought your sword, De Marsac,” he said in an even voice. “By good fortune I also have brought mine.” Here he laid his hand upon the pommel. “We were interrupted once. We can continue——”
Before he could end the sentence the steel was in the air. Both men in their eagerness stepped in close to each other. The blades rang out as they crossed up to the hilts. They both drew back again and made a wicked exchange of thrust and parry. They played fast and furiously at arm’s length. They shifted swiftly on the loose ground. Then, after De Marsac missed his aim at a point above the heart, André touched him lightly with the point of his sword upon the ear.