V
If you can imagine a cannon ball exploding in the very centre of that festive board, you will have some dim idea of the effect produced upon M. d'Inchy's guests by this manoeuvre. Every head was at once turned in that direction, for M. de Landas and his friends had uttered an exclamation that was almost ludicrous in its bewildered wrath.
The ladies round the supper tables could not do more than utter shrill little screams of disapproval, and many of the men were, alas! too deep in their cups to do aught save mutter bibulous imprecations against the malapert. A few rose and ran to give the weight of their moral and social support to de Landas, who had already jumped to his feet and appeared ready to make of this incident a quarrel—and that quarrel, his own. Of a truth, it was de Landas who had been most grievously insulted. The vacant chair beside Madame Jacqueline could only be taken by an intimate friend such as he. Already his hand was on his sword-hilt; his eyes, somewhat dimmed by the effect of copious libations, were rolling with unbridled fury; beneath his mask a hot flush had risen to his forehead, whilst below the curly masses of his dark hair his ears appeared white and shiny like wax. Unfortunately, he, like several other gentlemen present here this night, had drunk a vast quantity of Burgundy and Rhenish wine, not to mention several bumpers of excellent Flemish ale, and when choler came to mingle with the fumes of so much heady liquor, M. de Landas on rising, turned very giddy and had to steady himself for a moment or two against the table.
Just at that moment a veritable pandemonium reigned in the stately banqueting hall.
'The insolence!' said some of the ladies to the accompaniment of piercing little shrieks.
'A stranger!'
'A prince from Nowhere at all!'
'Bah! A Prince!'
'A mere fortune hunter!'
'Probably a Spanish spy!'
'Only a Spaniard would have such insolence!'
'Such impudence passes belief!'
The men—those who could speak coherently—sent encouraging calls to de Landas:
'Seize him by the collar, M. le Marquis!'
'Throw him out!'
'Have him kicked out by the varlets!'
Enough noise, in fact, to break the drum of a sensitive ear. But Gilles appeared superbly unconscious of the storm which was brewing round him. He had his back to M. de Landas, leaned an elbow on the table and faced Madame Jacqueline as coolly as if he had been invited by every one here to pay her his respects.
Jacqueline, demure and silent, was smiling beneath her mask. To look at her, you would have sworn that she was stone-deaf and heard nothing of the tumult around her.
It soon raged furiously. M. de Landas had quickly recovered himself. His towering rage helped to dissipate the fumes of wine and ale which had somewhat addled his brain, and backed by all his friends he made preparation to throw the malapert to the tender mercies of M. d'Inchy's varlets, and as a preface to the more forcible proceeding, he turned in order to smite the impudent stranger in the face—turned, and found himself confronted by a short, square-shouldered man, with a round head and fists held clenched on a level with a singularly broad chest.
The man stood between Gilles and M. de Landas; he had the table on his right and the monumental mantelpiece on his left, and behind him was the tall carved oak back of the chair on which Gilles was sitting—all equally strong barriers to the young Marquis' bellicose intentions.
'Out of the way, lout!' shouted de Landas furiously, and would have seized Maître Jehan by the collar but for the fact that it was a very difficult thing indeed to seize Maître Jehan by any portion of his squat person unless he chose to allow so unceremonious a proceeding, and just now he was standing guard between a number of enraged gentlemen and the back of his master's chair—a trying position, forsooth, for any man of Maître Jehan's prowess, for ... well! he would not have dared to lay hands on such a great gentleman as was M. le Marquis; but, against that, M. le Marquis had no chance of laying hands on Maître Jehan either.