He tightened his lips. He must
afford no provocation. It must be for them to fasten their quarrels
upon him. Already the "Actes des Apotres" that morning had torn the
mask from his face, and proclaimed him the fencing-master of the Rue
du Hasard, successor to Bertrand des Amis. Hazardous as it had been
hitherto for a man of his condition to engage in single combat it
was rendered doubly so by this exposure, offered to the public as
an aristocratic apologia.
Still, matters could not be left where they were, or he should have
had all his pains for nothing. Carefully looking away from that
group of gentlemen, he raised his voice so that his words must
carry to their ears.
"It begins to look as if my fears of having to spend the remainder
of my days in the Bois were idle."
Out of the corner of his eye he caught the stir his words created
in that group. Its members had turned to look at him; but for the
moment that was all. A little more was necessary. Pacing slowly
along between his friends he resumed:
"But is it not remarkable that the assassin of Lagron should make
no move against Lagron's successor? Or perhaps it is not remarkable.
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