friend of the Duke of Guise, and later his murderer. The captain
spoke with a foreign accent, and his complexion was dark to
swarthiness. His eyes sparkled and flashed like black beads. It
was easy to see that he was an Italian.

"A gallant young cock enough," the soldier who had whistled
answered; "and not quite of the breed we expected." He held his
lanthorn towards me and pointed to the white badge on my sleeve.
"It strikes me we have caught a crow instead of a pigeon!"

"How comes this?" the Italian asked harshly, addressing me.
"Who are you? And why do you wish to cross the river at this
time of night, young sir?"

I acted on the inspiration of the moment. "Play the man boldly!"
Madame had said. I would: and I did with a vengeance. I sprang
forward and seizing the captain by the clasp of his cloak, shook
him violently, and flung him off with all my force, so that he
reeled. "Dog!" I exclaimed, advancing, as if I would seize him
again. "Learn how to speak to your betters! Am I to be stopped
by such sweepings as you? Hark ye, I am on the King's service!"

He fairly spluttered with rage. "More like the devil's!" he
exclaimed, pronouncing his words abominably, and fumbling vainly
for his weapon. "King's service or no service you do not insult
Andrea Pallavicini!"

I could only vindicate my daring by greater daring, and I saw
this even as, death staring me in the face, my heart seemed to
stop. The man had his mouth open and his hand raised to give an