savage government, and proclaim for the King."

The Duke never took his eyes from Detricand's.

What was going on behind that parchment face, who might say?

"Are you aware," he answered Detricand at last, "that I could send you
straight from here to the guillotine?"

"So could the porter at your gates, but he loves France almost as well
as does the Duc de Bercy."

"You take refuge in the fact that you are my kinsman," returned the Duke
acidly.

"The honour is stimulating, but I should not seek salvation by it. I
have the greater safety of being your guest," answered Detricand with
dignity.

"Too premature a sanctuary for a Vaufontaine!" retorted the Duke,
fighting down growing admiration for a kinsman whose family he would
gladly root out, if it lay in his power.

Detricand made a gesture of impatience, for he felt that his appeal had
availed nothing, and he had no heart for a battle of words. His wit had
been tempered in many fires, his nature was non-incandescent to praise or
gibe. He had had his share of pastime; now had come his share of toil,
and the mood for give and take of words was not on him.

He went straight to the point now. Hopelessly he spoke the plain truth.