“Then you were doing wrong,” cried the count, no longer able to keep in his anger.
“I do not say so.”
“You are mocking me,” cried the count, growing very pale, “and have been doing so for a quarter of an hour.”
“You are wrong, monsieur,” said St. Luc, drawing out his watch, and looking steadily at him; “it has been twenty minutes.”
“You insult me.”
“And you insult me with your questions like a constable.”
“Ah! now I see clearly.”
“How wonderful, at ten o’clock in the morning. But what do you see?”
“I see that you act in concert with the traitor, the coward, whom I saw yesterday.”
“I should think so; he is my friend.”