A Marquis Dons his Baldric

"They say that he is a furious swordsman, Monsieur," ventured Jehan,
trembling.

The marquis threw a keen glance at his servant. "What did they say of
me, even ten years ago?"

"You had no peer in all France, Monsieur . . . ten years ago."

The marquis smiled. "I have grown thin in ten years, that is all."

"Shall you leave any commands, Monsieur?"

"You may have the evening to yourself, and don't return till midnight."

Jehan bowed. There was nothing for him to say.

At dinner the marquis was unusually brilliant and witty. He dazzled
the governor and his ladies, and unbent so far as to accept four
glasses of burgundy. On one side sat Anne de Vaudemont, on the other
the governor's son, and directly opposite, Madame de Brissac, an
unnamed mystery to them all save Anne. Madame, despite her antagonism
and the terror lest she be discovered and unmasked by those remarkable
grey eyes, found herself irresistibly drawn toward and fascinated by
this remarkable exponent of a past epoch. She forgot the stories she
had heard regarding his past, she forgot the sinister shadow he had
cast over her own life, she forgot all save that without such men as
this there would and could be no history. And she was quite ignorant
of the fact that her scrutiny was being returned in kind.

"Madame," he asked, "have I not met you somewhere in wide and beautiful
France?"

"France is wide, as you say. I do not recollect having seen you before
taking passage on the Henri IV."