pupils.

And now the English King had put upon him such an insult as might only be

wiped out by blood.

As the blow fell, the wiry Frenchman clicked his heels together, and

throwing down his foil, he stood erect and rigid as a marble statue before

his master. White and livid was his tense drawn face, but he spoke no

word.

He might have struck the King, but then there would have been left to him

no alternative save death by his own hand; for a king may not fight with a

lesser mortal, and he who strikes a king may not live -- the king's honor

must be satisfied.

Had a French king struck him, De Vac would have struck back, and gloried in

the fate which permitted him to die for the honor of France; but an English

King -- pooh ! a dog; and who would die for a dog ? No, De Vac would find

other means of satisfying his wounded pride. He would revel in revenge

against this man for whom he felt no loyalty. If possible, he would harm

the whole of England if he could, but he would bide his time. He could

afford to wait for his opportunity if, by waiting, he could encompass a

more terrible revenge.

De Vac had been born in Paris, the son of a French officer reputed the best

swordsman in France. The son had followed closely in the footsteps of his

father until, on the latter's death, he could easily claim the title of his

sire. How he had left France and entered the service of John of England is

not of this story. All the bearing that the life of Jules de Vac has upon

the history of England hinges upon but two of his many attributes -- his

wonderful swordsmanship and his fearful hatred for his adopted country.

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