Captain Plessy gave his reason. It rang false to every man in the
room and indeed he made no attempt to give to it any appearance of
sincerity. It was a deliberate excuse and not his reason.

"Because you are the Prussian officer in command and the Prussian
troops march into St. Denis to-morrow. Suppose that I kill you, what
sort of penalty should I suffer at their hands?"

"None," exclaimed Faversham. "We can draw up an account of the
quarrel, here now. Look here is paper and ink and as luck will have it
a pen that will write. I will write an account with my own hand, and
the four of us can sign it. Besides if you kill me, you can escape
into Paris."

"I will not fight you to-night," said Captain Plessy and he set down
the candle upon the table. Then with an elaborate correctness he drew
his sword from its scabbard and offered the handle of it to Faversham.

"Lieutenant, you are in command of St. Denis. I am your prisoner of
war."

Faversham stood for a moment or two with his hands clenched. The light
had gone out of his face.

"I have no authority to make prisoners," he said. He took up one of
the candles, gazed at his guest in perplexity.

"You have not given me your real reason, Captain Plessy," he said.
Captain Plessy did not answer a word.