The Marquis desires it, and--what will you ?--since I am going to kill the man, I can scarce do less than kill him on a spot of his own choosing." Michelot screwed up his face and scratched at his grey beard with his huge hand.
"Does no suspicion of foul play cross your mind, Monsieur ?" he inquired timidly.
"Shame on you, Michelot," I returned with some heat.

"You do not yet understand the ways of gentlemen.

Think you that M.de St.Auban would stoop to such a deed as that?
He would be shamed for ever! Pooh, I would as soon suspect my Lord Cardinal of stealing the chalices from Notre Dame.

Go, see to my horse.

I am riding to Canaples." As I rode out towards the chateau I fell to thinking, and my thoughts turning to Vilmorin, I marvelled at the part he was playing in this little comedy of a cabal against Andrea de Mancini.