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The door flew open and, shoulder to shoulder like brothers, out rushed Grammont and Lucas! My fear was drowned in amaze. I forgot to run and stood staring in sheer, blank bewilderment. Crying "Damned traitor!" Gervais, with drawn sword, charged at me. I had only the little dagger. I owe my life to Yeux-gris's quick wits and no less quick fingers.
I thought I saw Yeux-gris's out, too, when Gervais struck me over the head with his sword-hilt. The rest was darkness. Rapiers and a vow. I came to my senses slowly, to hear loud, angry voices. As I opened my eyes and stirred, the room reeled from me and all was blank again. Awhile after, I grew aware of a clashing of steel.
I do not love you and I do not love Lucas. Therefore, if you and M. Lucas are to fight, I ask nothing better than to help the quarrel on." He stared at me with an air more of bewilderment than aught else, but Yeux-gris's ready laughter rang out. "Bravo, Félix! I am proud of you. That is an idea worthy of Cæsar! You would set your enemies to exterminate each other. And I asked you to be my valet!"
A smile hovered over Yeux-gris's lips; already a red disk on Gervais's shirt showed where his cousin's sword had been and would soon go again, and deeper. I had forgotten my bruise in my interest and delight, when, of a sudden, one whom we all had ignored took a hand in the game. Gervais's lackey started forward and knocked up Yeux-gris's arm.
"No," Gervais answered; "you stood my friend, my one friend in that house, as I was yours. I stood at your shoulder in the Montluc affair you cannot deny that. I have been your ally, your servant, your messenger to mademoiselle, your envoy to Mayenne. I have done all in my power to win you your lady." A shadow fell over Yeux-gris's open face.
Your madness will get no countenance from me." "Hang you for an obstinate pig!" M. Étienne cried. Vigo said no more. He had made plain his position; he had naught to add or retract. Yeux-gris's face cleared. After all, there was no use being angry with Vigo; one might as well make fists at the flow of the Seine. "Very well." M. Étienne swallowed his wrath.
When I looked into his dogged eyes I could not but think the end of me might be near. But Yeux-gris's laugh said the very notion was ridiculous; I was innocent of all harmful intent, and they were gentlemen, not cutthroats. "Messieurs," I said, "I swear by the blessed saints I am what I told you. I am no spy, and no one sent me here. Who you are, or what you do, I know no more than a babe unborn.
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