"Yes," said the Duke gruffly; "then and there--before everybody--
when the swords are drawn. And you and I have to do it while
he is leaving the country."

"But what can this mean?" cried Flambeau. "He can't be afraid of
that little Hirsch! Confound it!" he cried, in a kind of rational rage;
"nobody could be afraid of Hirsch!"

"I believe it's some plot!" snapped Valognes--"some plot of
the Jews and Freemasons. It's meant to work up glory for Hirsch..."

The face of Father Brown was commonplace, but curiously contented;
it could shine with ignorance as well as with knowledge.
But there was always one flash when the foolish mask fell,
and the wise mask fitted itself in its place; and Flambeau,
who knew his friend, knew that his friend had suddenly understood.
Brown said nothing, but finished his plate of fish.

"Where did you last see our precious Colonel?" asked Flambeau,
irritably.

"He's round at the Hotel Saint Louis by the Elysee,
where we drove with him. He's packing up, I tell you."

"Will he be there still, do you think?" asked Flambeau,
frowning at the table.

"I don't think he can get away yet," replied the Duke;
"he's packing to go a long journey..."