The quiet sternness with which the young man spoke filled Adrienne with fresh wonder and something like fear. She glanced from Calvert's face, with its look of calm authority, to St. Aulaire's convulsed countenance. The nobleman's face, usually so debonair, was now white and seamed with anger. All the hidden evil traits of his soul came out and stamped themselves visibly on his countenance, in that heat of passion, like characters written in a secret ink and brought near a flame.
"Monsieur l'Américain," he said, lowering his point and coming up quite close to Calvert, "Monsieur, you have a trick of being damnably mal apropos. I have had a lesson from you in skating and one in singing, but I need none in love-making. My patience—never very great, I fear—is at an end, sir! This intrusion, Monsieur l'Américain, is unpardonable," he went on, recovering his composure with a great effort, "unpardonable—unless, indeed, Monsieur hoped to gain what I have just lost," he added, smiling his brilliant, insolent smile, though he had to half-kneel for support upon the marble edge of the fountain.
"Silence!" said Calvert, his white face filled with such sudden horror and disgust that Monsieur de St. Aulaire burst out laughing.
"A poor compliment to you, Madame," he said to Adrienne.
At the words and the mocking laughter, Calvert's wrath blazed up uncontrollably. He went over to St. Aulaire, where he knelt on the basin, and, catching him again by the collar, shook him to and fro without mercy.
"Another word, sir, and I will toss you into this fountain with the hope that you break your head against the bottom! And now, go!"
The water in the marble basin was not very deep, but St. Aulaire did not covet a ducking—'twould be too good a theme for jests at his expense; and though he could still laugh and talk insolently, he felt weak and in no condition to prevent Calvert from carrying out his threat. Retreat seemed to be all left to him. With a sour smile he got upon his feet, and, making an elaborate courtesy to Madame de St. André, passed through the colonnade from the bosquet.
When he had quite disappeared, Calvert turned to the young girl. She still stood by the bubbling fountain, pale between anger and fright, one hand yet pressed against her throat, the other clenched and hanging by her side. At her feet the white rose lay crushed and unheeded. As Calvert looked at the wilful, beautiful girl before him, he comprehended for the first time that he loved her—loved and mistrusted her. The shock of surprise that this cruel conviction brought with it held him rooted to the spot for an instant. Love had ever been a vague dream to him, but certainly no woman could be further from his ideal than this brilliant, volatile, worldly creature.
A smile rippled over her face, to which the color was gradually returning.
"Well done, sir! I am only sorry you did not drop him into the fountain, as you threatened. 'Twould have been a light enough punishment, and, for once, we should have had the pleasure of seeing Monsieur de St. Aulaire in something besides his customary immaculate attire!" and she laughed faintly.