Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 23, 1924 — page 149: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A CENTAUR OF NAVARRE. Henri of Navarre’s young captain, to whom you wish to go, mademoiselle?” D’Orsang asked. - “‘ And why did you not go to him before?” In a misery of remorse at the pain she caused him, Serene told him our little tale of love, and how, when her hopes had been dashed by D’Epernon’s shameful bargain with the king, she had been driven to des- perate remedies. “And I hope that you can forgive me, M. d’Orsang,” she ended; “ for, oh, I know that I have treated you very ill.” “| believe that you have, mademoiselle,” he assented, looking at her with some stern- ness. “So, if your gallant had failed you, then, sooner than yield to Henri, you would have done me the honor to become my wife?” “Yes, monsieur,’ Serene answered weak- ly; “ but—but, Hilaire has come.” D’Orsang plucked at his mustache and stared gloomily from the window at the soldiers outside. ‘““ Mademoiselle would have done best by telling me the whole truth when she came to me,” he said. ‘“ *IT'would have been painful, but—not like this.” Serene bowed her head; nor did I know what to say to him. The man was right, and he was honest, and [ was sorry for him. “ But you will let us go now, monsieur?” she pleaded softly. ‘“ You see, we love each other.” “TI see. What a sweet, fair thing this love can be! I’ve now had some small measure of experience with it. A sweet cup—with a dash of poison in it!” He laughed, and it was a hard sound, and deep in his throat. “Eh, well, I forgive you, mademoiselle, and doubtless I shall recover from it in time. But you, monsieur—” He whirled on me and thrust his face close to mine. “You, my young captain, I cannot for- give so easily. I cannot forgive you your tall, straight body, your comely face, and your pleasant voice. You shall have your mademoiselle—if you can take her from me.” “You mean?” 307 The viscount touched the hilt of his sword. “No, no! You shall not!” Serene cried. ‘Why should you fight? I have earned your contempt, M. d’Orsang. Reproach me as you will; I deserve it; but do not fight with Hilaire! He is blameless!” She reached to take his hands; but he shrank away from her, continuing to regard me. ‘What says the captain?” he asked. “That I have no wish to fight you, M. the Viscount—and besides, see little hope of mending matters by the shedding of our blood.” ‘Will this be necessary?” He raised his hand. ‘“ Blood of God, monsieur!” “Very well, then. There is a room across the hall. Come.” Serene ran after me to the door. “Do not harm him, Hilaire!” she im- plored; “ and, oh, my dear, do not let him harm you!” Mon Dieu—the things a woman will ask of a man! CHAPTER XXXVII. M. D’ORSANG’S GIFTS. fight. ‘We shall require no witnesses,” M. d’Orsang said, glancing at Mark, who had followed us and stood in the doorway. Mark looked to me for orders. I nodded, and he closed the door and went away, whistling under his breath. A couple of moments later I heard his voice at the front door of the /étel, bidding my men to sit tight, as the master had ‘a small matter to arrange.” M. the Viscount and I were alone in the little room. Bookshelves were on its walls, and a table by the windows was piled high with volumes. Near one end of the table stood a tall harp with a frame of dark wood, a stool, and a stand with music on it. Seeing these things, I wondered more at the strangely mingled character of this man whom I was to fight. ‘Shall we lay aside this coribetscieis frippery and fight it out like men, cap- ig was a small room to which we went to Gomichbooks (E(o) | * aw, “4 ———— - te ¢: —_ eS ae a,