to the house he served had been buried in the Cathedral of Worcester.

During the years he had served as master of fence at the English Court, the
sons of royalty had learned to thrust and parry and cut as only De Vac
could teach the art, and he had been as conscientious in the discharge of
his duties as he had been in his unswerving hatred and contempt for his
pupils.

And now the English King had put upon him such an insult as might only be
wiped out by blood.

As the blow fell, the wiry Frenchman clicked his heels together, and
throwing down his foil, he stood erect and rigid as a marble statue before
his master. White and livid was his tense drawn face, but he spoke no
word.

He might have struck the King, but then there would have been left to him
no alternative save death by his own hand; for a king may not fight with a
lesser mortal, and he who strikes a king may not live -- the king's honor
must be satisfied.

Had a French king struck him, De Vac would have struck back, and gloried in
the fate which permitted him to die for the honor of France; but an English
King -- pooh ! a dog; and who would die for a dog ? No, De Vac would find
other means of satisfying his wounded pride. He would revel in revenge
against this man for whom he felt no loyalty. If possible, he would harm
the whole of England if he could, but he would bide his time. He could
afford to wait for his opportunity if, by waiting, he could encompass a
more terrible revenge.