"Give me his name, sire."

The king stamped his foot angrily; but after a moment's reflection, he
said, "You are right - ten times, twenty times, a hundred times right."

"That is my opinion, sire: I am happy that, this time, it accords with
your majesty's."

"One word more. Who assisted Guiche?"

"I do not know, sire."

"But you speak of two men. There was a person present, then, as second."

"There was no second, sire. Nay, more than that, when M. de Guiche fell,
his adversary fled without giving him any assistance."

"The miserable coward!" exclaimed the king.

"The consequence of your ordinances, sire. If a man has fought well, and
fairly, and has already escaped one chance of death, he naturally wishes
to escape a second. M. de Bouteville cannot be forgotten very easily."

"And so, men turn cowards."

"No, they become prudent."

"And he has fled, then, you say?"

"Yes; and as fast as his horse could possibly carry him."