Unable to control his indignation, the Duke strode towards them, and flinging his jewelled cap on the ground, drew his sword.
“M. Renard,” he exclaimed, “you are a traitor!”
“To whom, my lord?” replied Renard, calmly.
“To me—to the Queen,” rejoined the Duke.
“If to be your grace’s enemy is to be a traitor, I confess I am one,” retorted Renard sternly. “But I am no traitor to her majesty.”
“It is false!” exclaimed the Duke, furiously. “You are her worst and most dangerous enemy. And nothing but the sacred spot in which you have sought shelter, prevents me from taking instant vengeance upon you.”
Renard smiled disdainfully.
“Your grace threatens safely,” he said, in a taunting tone.
“Insolent!” exclaimed the Duke, roused to a pitch of ungovernable fury. “Draw and defend yourself, or I will strike you dead at my feet.”