“The fact is—”
“Deuce take it! how troublesome all this is! In former days we had no occasion to say anything about the matter. People fought for the sake of fighting; and I, for one, know no better reason than that.”
“You are quite right, M. du Vallon.”
“However, tell me what the cause is.”
“It is too long a story to tell; only, as one must particularize to a certain extent, and as, on the other hand, the affair is full of difficulties, and requires the most absolute secrecy, you will have the kindness merely to tell M. de Saint-Aignan that he has, in the first place, insulted me by changing his lodgings.”
“By changing his lodgings? Good,” said Porthos, who began to count on his fingers; “next?”
“Then in getting a trap-door made in his new apartments.”
“I understand,” said Porthos; “a trap-door: upon my word, that is very serious; you ought to be furious at that. What the deuce does the fellow mean by getting trap-doors made without first consulting you? Trap-doors! mordioux! I haven’t got any, except in my dungeons at Bracieux.”
“And you will please add,” said Raoul, “that my last motive for considering myself insulted is, the existence of the portrait that M. de Saint-Aignan well knows.”
“Is it possible? A portrait, too! A change of residence, a trap-door, and a portrait! Why, my dear friend, with but one of these causes of complaint there is enough, and more than enough, for all the gentlemen in France and Spain to cut each other’s throats, and that is saying but very little.”