"Knave!" he snarled.
"Knave to me? Have a care, St. Auban, or I'll find you a shroud for a
wedding garment."
"Knave!" he repeated with a snarl. "What price are you paid by that boy?"
"Pardieu, St. Auban! You shall answer to me for this."
"Answer for it? To you!" And he laughed harshly. "You are mad, my
master. When did a St. Auban cross swords with a man of your stamp?"
"M. le Marquis," I said, with a calmness that came of a stupendous effort,
"at Choisy you sought my friendship with high-sounding talk of principles
that opposed you to the proposed alliance, twixt the houses of Mancini and
Canaples. Since then I have learned that your motives were purely
personal. From my discovery I hold you to be a liar."
"Monsieur!"
"I have not yet done. You refuse to cross swords with me on the pretext
that you do not fight men of my stamp. I am no saint, sir, I confess. But
my sins cannot wash out my name--the name of a family accounted as good as
that of St. Auban, and one from which a Constable of France has sprung,
whereas yours has never yet bred aught but profligates and debauchees.
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