And the lieutenant at the Chatelet did not put himself to much
trouble to hearten me. 'What! again M. de Berault?' he said,
raising his eyebrows as he received me at the gate, and
recognised me by the light of the brazier which his men were just
kindling outside. 'You are a very bold man, or a very foolhardy
one, to come here again. The old business, I suppose?'

'Yes, but he is not dead,' I answered coolly. 'He has a trifle
--a mere scratch. It was behind the church of St Jacques.'

'He looked dead enough, my friend,' the guardsman interposed. He
had not yet left us.

'Bah!' I answered scornfully. 'Have you ever known me make a
mistake When I kill a man I kill him. I put myself to pains, I
tell you, not to kill this Englishman. Therefore he will live.'

'I hope so,' the lieutenant said, with a dry smile. 'And you had
better hope so, too, M. de Berault, For if not--'

'Well?' I said, somewhat troubled. 'If not, what, my friend?'

'I fear he will be the last man you will fight,' he answered.
'And even if he lives, I would not be too sure, my friend. This
time the Cardinal is determined to put it down.'

'He and I are old friends,' I said confidently.

'So I have heard,' he anwered, with a short laugh. 'I think that