"Kill him!" lisped the classic-minded fool. "Play Theseus to this
bull of Marathon."
Chatellerault stood back, his hands on his hips, his head inclined
towards his right shoulder, and an insolent leer of expectancy upon
his face.
"Will that resolve you?" he sneered.
"I will meet you," I answered, when I had recovered breath. "But I
swear that I shall not help you to escape the headsman."
He laughed harshly.
"Do I not know it?" he mocked. "How shall killing you help me to
escape? Come, messieurs, sortons. At once!"
"Sor," I answered shortly; and thereupon we crowded from the room,
and went pele-mele down the passage to the courtyard at the back.
CHAPTER XVI
SWORDS!
La Fosse led the way with me, his arm through mine, swearing that
he would be my second. He had such a stomach for a fight, had this
irresponsible, irrepressible rhymester, that it mounted to the
heights of passion with him, and when I mentioned, in answer to a
hint dropped in connection with the edict, that I had the King's
sanction for this combat, he was nearly mad with joy.
"Blood of La Fosse!" was his oath. "The honour to stand by you
shall be mine, my Bardelys! You owe it me, for am I not in part to
blame for all this ado? Nay, you'll not deny me. That gentleman
yonder, with the wild-cat moustaches and a name like a Gascon oath
--that cousin of Mironsac's, I mean - has the flair of a fight in
his nostrils, and a craving to be in it.
Pages:
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211