Just as he did so there came to his ears the first sound of the little church bell ringing the Angelus.
He stepped into the room holding the lamp high above his head; its feeble rays fell full upon the brilliant figure of Sir Percy Blakeney.
He was smiling pleasantly, bowing slightly towards Chauvelin, and in his hand he held the sheathed sword, the blade of which had been fashioned in Toledo for Lorenzo Cenci, and the fellow of which was lying now--Chauvelin himself knew not where.
"The day and hour, Monsieur, I think," said Sir Percy with courtly grace, "when you and I are to cross swords together; those are the southern ramparts, meseems.

Will you precede, sir?
and I will follow." At sight of this man, of his impudence and of his daring, Chauvelin felt an icy grip on his heart.

His cheeks became ashen white, his thin lips closed with a snap, and the hand which held the lamp aloft trembled visibly.

Sir Percy stood before him, still smiling and with a graceful gesture pointing towards the ramparts.
From the Church of St.Joseph the gentle, melancholy tones of the Angelus sounding the second Ave Maria came faintly echoing in the evening air.
With a violent effort Chauvelin forced himself to self-control, and tried to shake off the strange feeling of obsession which had overwhelmed him in the presence of this extraordinary man.

He walked quite quietly up to the table and placed the lamp upon it.