"What do you want?" he whispered; then, his voice gaining power as he used
it-- "Speak," he commanded. "Man or devil, speak!"
I laughed for answer, harshly, mockingly; for never had I known a fiercer,
crueller mood. At the sound of that laugh, satanical though may have been
its ring, he sprang up again, and unsheathing a dagger he took a step
towards me.
"We shall see of what you are made," he cried. "If you blast me in the
act, I'll strike you!"
I laughed again, and raising my arm I gave him the nozzle of a pistol to
contemplate.
"Stand where you are, St. Auban, or, by the God above us, I'll send your
ghost a-wandering," quoth I coolly.
My voice, which I take it had nothing ghostly in it, and still more the
levelled pistol, which of all implements is the most unghostly, dispelled
his dread. The colour crept slowly back to his cheeks, and his mouth
closed with a snap of determination.
"Is it, indeed, you, master meddler?" he said. "Peste! I thought you dead
these three months."
"And you are overcome with joy to find that you were in error, eh, Marquis?
We Luynes die hard.
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