"Go," he said, in a voice that passion rendered hoarse. "Go, Monsieur. Go
quickly, while my clemency endures. Go before I summon the guard and deal
with you as your temerity deserves."

I bowed--not without a taint of mockery, for I cared little what might
follow; then, with head erect and the firm tread of defiance, I stalked out
of his apartment, along the corridor, down the great staircase, across the
courtyard, past the guard,--which, ignorant of my disgrace, saluted me,--
and out into the street.

Then at last my head sank forward on my breast, and deep in thought I
wended my way home, oblivious of all around me, even the chill bite of the
February wind.

In my mind I reviewed my wasted life, with the fleeting pleasures and the
enduring sorrows that it had brought me--or that I had drawn from it. The
Cardinal said no more than truth when he spoke of having saved me from
starvation. A week ago that was indeed what he had done. He had taken
pity on Gaston de Luynes, the nephew of that famous Albert de Luynes who
had been Constable of France in the early days of the late king's reign; he
had made me lieutenant of his guards and maître d'armes to his nephews
Andrea and Paolo de Mancini because he knew that a better blade than mine
could not be found in France, and because he thought it well to have such
swords as mine about him.

A little week ago life had been replete with fresh promises, the gates of
the road to fame (and perchance fortune) had been opened to me anew, and
now--before I had fairly passed that gate I had been thrust rudely back,
and it had been slammed in my face because it pleased a fool to become a
sot whilst in my company.