"The poet!" said the vicomte airily. He was, with all his lawlessness,
a gallant man. "Did I not prophesy that some day we should be at each
other's throats?"
"Gabrielle," Victor said, "help is close at hand. I can keep this man
at bay. If I should die, Gabrielle . . . you will not forget me?"
"How affecting! I am almost moved to tears!" mocked the vicomte.
"Well, Monsieur, let us go about our work without banter. There is no
edict here, no meddling priests, only you and I. Engage!" Bare-headed
he stood, scarce but a youth, no match ordinarily for the seasoned
swordsman before him. But madame saw the courage of Bayard in his
frank blue eyes. She turned her face toward the wall and wept. "Have
patience, Paul," Victor called; "they will liberate you soon."
"So." The vicomte stretched out his arm. "Well, my writer of
rondeaux, I have but little time to spare. As the fair Juliet says, 'I
must be gone and live, or stay and die.' I can not fight the
settlement which will soon be about my ears. You first, then your
friend. I should scorn to separate, either on earth or in hades, such
loving Orestes and Pylades.
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