He buckled on the marquis's shoulder a worn baldric pendent
to which was the famous basket-sword which had earned for its owner the
sobriquet of "Prince of a hundred duels."
"It has grown heavy since the last time I put it on," observed the
marquis, thoughtfully, weighing the blade on his palms. "Those were
merry days," reminiscently.
"Monsieur goes abroad to-night?" essayed the lackey, experiencing an
old-time thrill.
"Yes, but alone. Now, a cup of wine undiluted. Monsieur de Leviston
is still in the hospital?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Through the kindly offices of Monsieur de Saumaise."
"Who is a gallant fellow."
To this Monsieur le Marquis readily agreed. "But Monsieur d'Herouville
is no longer confined. I saw him abroad this afternoon."
"They say that he is a furious swordsman, Monsieur," ventured Jehan,
trembling.
The marquis threw a keen glance at his servant. "What did they say of
me, even ten years ago?"
"You had no peer in all France, Monsieur . . . ten years ago."
The marquis smiled. "I have grown thin in ten years, that is all."
"Shall you leave any commands, Monsieur?"
"You may have the evening to yourself, and don't return till midnight.
Pages:
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390