"Beg one of these
gentlemen to act for you, and if you are a man of honour let us step
out into the yard and settle the matter."
I shook my head.
"I am so much a man of honour as to be careful with whom I cross
steel. I prefer to leave you to His Majesty's vengeance; his
headsman may be less particular than am I. No, monsieur, on the
whole, I do not think that I can fight you."
His face grew a shade paler. It became grey; the jaw was set, and
the eyes were more out of symmetry than I had ever seen them. Their
glance approached what is known in Italy as the mal'occhio, and to
protect themselves against the baneful influences of which men carry
charms. A moment he stood so, eyeing me. Then, coming a step
nearer--
"You do not think that you can fight me, eh? You do not think it?
Pardieu! How shall I make you change your mind? To the insult of
words you appear impervious. You imagine your courage above dispute
because by a lucky accident you killed La Vertoile some years ago
and the fame of it has attached to you." In the intensity of his
anger he was breathing heavily, like a man overburdened. "You have
been living ever since by the reputation which that accident gave
you. Let us see if you can die by it, Monsieur de Bardelys." And,
leaning forward, he struck me on the breast, so suddenly and so
powerfully - for he was a man of abnormal strength - that I must
have fallen but that La Fosse caught me in his arms.
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