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think it will be Cœur de Gris, here. He is the most favored of us.”

“Well enough. Cœur de Gris is fated to die on the poniard of some man’s jealousy. I would not mind killing him, because if I did not, some one else would. No, it might be my dagger.”

“What would you do with a woman like that? A rope’s end wouldn’t be the thing, I guess.”

“Well, to tell truth, I have always found those fat doubloons the most perfect instruments of rape. They glitter so.”

“No, no. But see this. Nearly all women will repurchase their diamonds with their virtue. When you have the second, it is an easy thing to reacquire the first.”

“What does old One-arm say about it—The Other Burgundian? Hey! will you be taking the Red Saint for your fat friend there?”

The Other Burgundian bowed.

“There would be no need,” he said. “My friend is very capable. Why, I could tell a tale—” He turned to The Bungundian. “Have I your permission, Emil?”

The Burgundian seemed trying to get through the wall, but he did manage a nod.

“Then I will tell you gentlemen a story,” The Other Burgundian began. “There were four friends in Burgundy; three who squeezed a little sour milk from the dugs of art, and one who had possessions. Also there was a lovely girl in Burgundy; beautiful, accomplished, a veritable Circe,