"The fiery little king of the kitchen bounded from his chair, sprang at him, and seized him by the throat."
M. Boulederouloue rose from his chair and stood aghast, ejaculating solemnly, "It is terrible!"
"And to think that such a scoundrel should be trusted by madame the baroness! Shame upon her! It is abominable!" Saying which M. Perigord, who had by this time let go the valet's throat, snatched off his own wig and dashed it passionately on the floor. "Begone, despicable scoundrel that you are," he added, as the valet, with a malignant scowl, but without venturing to utter a word, made his way to the door. "Begone! go to madame if you like, and tell her that if old Achille Perigord can do anything to save our young master and this poor young lady from your horrible schemes he will not leave it undone, I promise you."
Having hurled this speech after his retreating foe, M. Perigord also retired, after a parting salutation to the maître d'hotel, who could only answer by holding up his hands and exclaiming, "Alas! the world is coming to an end!"
