"Of course."

The Marquis ran a lace handkerchief along his blade to wipe it. As
he let the dainty fabric fall, he explained himself. "He had, as
I told him, a too dangerous gift of eloquence."

And he turned away, leaving completest understanding with
Andre-Louis. Still supporting the limp, draining body, the young
man called to him.

"Come back, you cowardly murderer, and make yourself quite safe by
killing me too!"

The Marquis half turned, his face dark with anger. Then M. de
Chabrillane set a restraining hand upon his arm. Although a party
throughout to the deed, the Chevalier was a little appalled now
that it was done. He had not the high stomach of M. de La Tour
d'Azyr, and he was a good deal younger.

"Come away," he said. "The lad is raving. They were friends."

"You heard what he said?" quoth the Marquis.

"Nor can he, or you, or any man deny it," flung back Andre-Louis.
"Yourself, monsieur, you made confession when you gave me now the
reason why you killed him. You did it because you feared him."

"If that were true - what, then?" asked the great gentleman.