They pushed their way into the room, impelling Saint-Eustache
forward, and there were greetings exchanged and felicitations, whilst
Chatellerault, curbing his disorder, drew the Chevalier into a corner
of the room, and stood there listening to him.
At length I heard the Count exclaim--
"Do as you please, Chevalier. If you have interests of your own to
serve, serve them. As for myself - I am past being interested."
"But why, monsieur?" the chevalier inquired.
"Why?" echoed Chatellerault, his ferocity welling up again. Then,
swinging round, he came straight at me, as a bull makes a charge.
"Monsieur de Bardelys!" he blazed.
"Bardelys!" gasped Saint-Eustache in the background.
"What now?" I inquired coldly, turning from my friends.
"All that you said may be true, and I may be doomed, but I swear
before God that you shall not go unpunished."
"I think, monsieur, that you run a grave risk of perjuring yourself!"
I laughed.
"You shall render me satisfaction ere we part!" he cried.
"If you do not deem that paper satisfaction enough, then, monsieur,
forgive me, but your greed transcends all possibility of being ever
satisfied."
"The devil take your paper and your estates! What shall they
profit me when I am dead?"
"They may profit your heirs," I suggested.
"How shall that profit me?"
"That is a riddle that I cannot pretend to elucidate."
"You laugh, you knave!" he snorted. Then, with an abrupt change of
manner, "You do not lack for friends," said he.
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