"My dear monsieur, when the king gives me a letter to carry, I carry
it."

"I will tear it from you by force."

"You will not force me, I hope, to shoot you like a dog."

"You!"

"Yes; I have a pistol, and you have not."

"You shall pay for this."

"I trust so, after my commission is over; but, meanwhile, I beg you to
observe that as we belong to the king, it is setting a bad example to
quarrel."

St. Maline was furious, he bit his fingers with rage. As they crossed
the Rue St. Antoine, Ernanton saw a litter with a lady in it. "My page!"
cried he, and he rode toward it; but she did not seem to recognize him,
and passed on.

The young men now rode on without speaking. St. Maline soon discovered,
to his chagrin, that his horse was not as good as Ernanton's, and could
hardly keep pace with him. This annoyed him so much that he began to
quarrel with his horse, and to fret him so perpetually with the spur,
that at last the animal started off and made for the river Bievre, where
he got rid of his rider by throwing him in. One might have heard half a
mile off the imprecations of St. Maline, although he was half stifled by