The Grey Cloak - Page 85/256

"I must go," she said, also rising. She moved blindly across the room,

irresolutely. Seeing a door, she turned the knob and entered.

It was only after the door closed that Victor recollected. Paul and

she together in that room? What irony! He was about to rush after

madame, when his steps were arrested by a voice coming from the stairs.

The vicomte was descending.

"Ah, Monsieur de Saumaise," said the vicomte, "how fortunate to find

you alone!"

"Fortunate, indeed!" replied Victor. Here was a man upon whom to wreak

his wrath, disappointment and despair. Justice or injustice, neither

balanced on the scales of his wrath. He crossed over to the chimney,

stood with his back to the fire and waited.

The vicomte approached within a yard, stopped; twisted his mustache,

resting his left hand on his hip. His discerning inspection was soon

completed. He was fully aware of the desperate and reckless light in

the poet's eyes.

"Monsieur de Saumaise, you have this night offered me four distinct

affronts. Men have died for less than one."

"Ah!" Victor clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels.

"At the Hôtel de Périgny you called me a fool when the Chevalier struck

me with his sword. I shall pass over that. The Chevalier was mad, and

we all were excited. But three times in this tavern you have annoyed

me. Your temperament, being that of a poet, at times gets the better

of you. My knowledge of this accounts for my patience."

"That is magnanimous, Monsieur," railingly.

"Were I not bound for a far country I might call you to account."

"It is possible, then?"

"Braver men than you find it to their benefit to respect this sword of

mine."

"Then you have a sword?"

The vicomte laughed. It was real laughter, unfeigned. He was too keen

a banterer himself not to appreciate this gift in the poet. "What a

lively lad you are!" he exclaimed. "But four affronts make a long

account for a single night."

"I am ready now and at all times to close the account."

"Do you love Paris?" asked the vicomte, adding his mite to the

bantering.

"Not so much as I did."

"Has not Rochelle become suddenly attractive?"

"Rochelle? I do not say so."

"Come; confess that the unexpected advent of Madame de Brissac has

brought this change about."

"Were we not discoursing on affronts?"

"Only as a sign of my displeasure. By September I dare say I shall

return to France. I promise to look you up; and if by that time your

manner has not undergone a desirable change I shall take my sword and

trim the rude edges of your courtesy."

"September? That is a long while to wait. Why not come to Spain with

me? We could have it out there. Quebec? Do you fear Mazarin, then,

so much as that?"