de Luynes."
"Pshaw, your Eminence!" I deprecated; "the poor are always brave. They
have naught to lose but their life, and that is not so sweet to them that
they lay much store by it. Howbeit, Monseigneur, your wishes have been
carried out. There will be no duel at St. Germain this evening."
"Will there not? Hum! I am not so confident. You are a brave man, M. de
Luynes, but you lack that great auxiliary of valour--discretion. What need
to fling into the teeth of those fine gentlemen the reason you had for
spitting Canaples, eh? You have provoked a dozen enemies for Andrea where
only one existed."
"I will answer for all of them," I retorted boastfully.
"Fine words, M. de Luynes; but to support them how many men will you have
to kill? Pah! What if some fine morning there comes one who, despite your
vaunted swordsmanship, proves your master? What will become of that fool,
my nephew, eh?"
And his uncanny smile again beamed on me. "Andrea is now packing his
valise. In an hour he will have left Paris secretly. He goes--but what
does it signify where he goes? He is compelled by your indiscretion to
withdraw from Court.
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