“That the Count De Fontrailles cause Pedro Olivera to relinquish his fabricated claim—prevail on the cardinal to cancel the procureur’s proceedings, and leave the poor veteran in possession of the droit d’aubaine,” replied the undaunted advocate.
“A moderate request,” gasped the count, with suppressed rage, “what, give up all?”
“I knew not, so far as his own declaration went,” said Giraud, calmly, “that there was any thing for Monseigneur to give up. Unlike his friends, Pedro, and the deceased, we do not make the possession of these documents a pretext of extortion to be held over his head in terrorem—we ask of the count not the slightest pecuniary sacrifice, not a livre—we ask him merely to use his intercession, to act the honorable and coveted part of an interceder for mercy between justice and an innocent defendant. Such conduct will go far to lend the count that personal weight and respectability of character which he so much feels the want of.”
“Liar! It is false!” shouted the bitterly enraged noble, rushing upon the advocate. Seizing him by the throat, he bent his body over the table, depriving the victim both of power of speech and motion. “It is false, old dotard!” continued Fontrailles, without relaxing his grasp, “thou believest the droit is mine—and wouldst have me surrender it to gratify thy paltry pride. I have sweet revenge in store, or thou shouldst never have the chance of coining fresh lies!”
Being a powerful man, he was enabled to hold the advocate, prostrate and gasping for breath, with the right hand on his throat, whilst his left searched for the hand bell, which he rung violently. On the lackey entering, he commanded the attendance of Eugene and Robert, both armed, and to come without delay. Poor Giraud was nearly choked, and his back almost broken by the torturing position in which he was pinned to the library-table; nor did the count afford a moment’s respite till his creatures arrived armed to the teeth.
“Stand guard over the wretch,” cried Fontrailles, quitting his victim—“stand guard, at the peril of your lives, till I return—and if he offer the least resistance, or utters a single cry to raise an alarm, both of you fire—let him not escape, happen what may!”
The men mutely signified acquiescence by each taking a position, with pistols cocked, at the doors of the library.
“Monsieur le Comte!” said Giraud, in a feeble voice, recovering from the violence, “if you seek to commit a robbery, I promise you will be foiled—if you perpetrate violence on an unarmed man, it will not pass unrevenged. There are those able and willing waiting my return in safety—if I return not, then let the Count De Fontrailles tremble!”
“Peace, old dotard! You are not addressing a president of the Cour Royale!” said the count, now busily engaged in locking up his private papers.
“I warn you that what you seek will prove beyond reach,” added Giraud.