“Are you mad, Chevalier?” demanded Du Puys.  “What the devil!”

“Be seated, Messieurs,” said the vicomte, wiping his lips.  “You are all witnesses to this unprovoked assault.  There can be but one result.  You shall die, Monsieur,” to the Chevalier.

“It is possible.”  The Chevalier brushed aside Du Puys’s hands and tried to reach his sword.

“I will have one or the other of you shot, or both of you,” roared Du Puys.  But his heart was not in his voice.

“That is a small matter,” said the Chevalier.

“What is the meaning of all this?” cried Chaumonot.

“Tell him, Monsieur le Chevalier,” laughed the vicomte; “tell him!”

The Chevalier was mute; but his chest heaved and his eyes glowed with a terrible fury.

“Monsieur,” continued the vicomte, “you and I will step outside.  There is moonlight.”

“You will do nothing of the sort, Monsieur le Vicomte,” said Brother Jacques coolly.

“I will brook no interference from priests!” declared the vicomte.  His calm was gradually leaving him.  But before he could prevent it, Brother Jacques had whipped out the vicomte’s rapier and had broken it across his knee.  “Curse you, you meddling Jesuit!” He wrenched loose a hand and struck Brother Jacques violently in the face.

Brother Jacques caught the wrist.  “He grows profane,” he said blandly.  “Be quiet, Monsieur, or I will break your wrist so badly that you will never be able to handle a sword again.”

The vicomte in his rage struck out with the other hand, but the young priest was too quick for him.  Both the vicomte’s wrists were imprisoned as securely as though bauds of iron encircled them.  He struggled for a space, then became still.

“That is more sensible,” Brother Jacques said smoothly.

“In Heaven’s name, Paul,” cried Victor, “what does this all mean?”

“It means, lad, that there are no more masks.  That is all.  I am sorry, Messieurs, that Monsieur le Vicomte’s sword has been broken.  Will one of you lend him one?”

“I place you both under arrest,” declared Du Puys, emphatically.

“Major,” interposed Brother Jacques, “leave Monsieur le Vicomte to me.  There will be no duel between these two gentlemen.  I will arrange the affair.  Unless Monsieur le Chevalier desires to apologize.”

“Nothing of the kind!” replied the Chevalier harshly.

“Release my wrists, sneaking priest!”

Brother Jacques nodded toward the Chevalier to signify that he would depend upon his own offices.  “Monsieur le Vicomte, listen to me.  Will you follow me to your cabin?”

“You?”

“Even so.  I have something to say to you.”

“Well, I have nothing to say to you.  Will you let go of my wrists?”

Brother Jacques lost none of his blandness.  “I have only a single question to ask of you.  I will first whisper it.  If that does not convince you, I will ask it aloud.  There are those here who will understand its value.”  He leaned toward the angry man and whispered a dozen words into his ear, then drew back, still holding the straining wrists.