"Yes," I assented wearily.

"And in which a poor young fellow lost his life," growled the
Vicomte. "It was practically a murder."

"Nay, monsieur," I cried, with a sudden heat that set them staring
at me; "there you do him wrong. Monsieur de Bardelys was opposed
to the best blade in France. The man's reputation as a swordsman
was of such a quality that for a twelvemonth he had been living upon
it, doing all manner of unseemly things immune from punishment by
the fear in which he was universally held. His behaviour in the
unfortunate affair we are discussing was of a particularly shameful
character. Oh, I know the details, messieurs, I can sure you. He
thought to impose his reputation upon Bardelys as he had imposed it
upon a hundred others, but Bardelys was over-tough for his teeth.
He sent that notorious young gentleman a challenge, and on the
following morning he left him dead in the horsemarket behind the
Hotel Vendome. But far from a murder, monsieur, it was an act of
justice, and the most richly earned punishment with which ever man
was visited."

"Even if so," cried the Vicomte in some surprise, "why all this heat
to defend a brawler?"

"A brawler?" I repeated after him. "Oh, no. That is a charge his
worst enemies cannot make against Bardelys. He is no brawler. The
duel in question was his first affair of the kind, and it has been
his last, for unto him has clung the reputation that had belonged
until then to La Vertoile, and there is none in France bold enough
to send a challenge to him." And, seeing what surprise I was