At this, a flash of lightning was disengaged from Balsamo’s terrible frowning brows.
“Sir,” said he, with a tone which he forced to be calm while haughty, “since I have had the honor to see you, I have met misfortune; my house has been partly burnt, and many valuable objects destroyed, very valuable, understand; the result is that I am grieved and a little estranged by this grief. I beg you to be clear, therefore, or I must immediately take leave of you.”
“Oh, no,” replied Philip, “you are not going to leave as easily as you say. You may have had misfortunes, but one has befallen me, far greater than any of yours, I am sure.”
Balsamo smiled hopelessly as before.
“The honor of my family is lost my lord, and you can restore it.”
“Indeed? you must be mad,” and he put out his hand to ring a bell, and yet with so dull and feelingless a gesture that Philip did not stay it.
“I am mad,” said he in a broken voice. “But do you not understand that the question is of my sister, whom you held senseless in your arms on the 31st of May, last, and whom you took to a house no doubt of ill fame—my sister, of whom I demand the honor, sword in hand.”
“What a lot of beating the bush to come to a plain fact. You say I insulted—Who says I insulted your sister?”
“She herself, my lord—— ”
“Verily, you give me a very sad idea of yourself and your sister. You ought to know that it is the vilest of speculations that some women make with their fame. As you come to me, bursting in at my door, with your sword flourished like the bully in the Italian comedies who quarrels for his sister, it proves that she has great need of a husband or you of money—for you hear that I make gold. You are mistaken on both points, sir: You will get no money, and your sister will remain unwed.”