Dalrymple looked up with a dangerous light in his eyes, and took no notice of the apology.
"It appears to me, Monsieur le Vicomte Caylus," said he, giving the other his full title and speaking with singular distinctness, "that you hold the king very often at écarté."
De Caylus looked up with every vein on his forehead suddenly swollen and throbbing.
"Monsieur!" he exclaimed, hoarsely.
"Especially when you deal," added Dalrymple, smoothing his moustache with utter sang-froid, and keeping his eyes still riveted upon his adversary.
With an inarticulate cry like the cry of a wild beast, De Caylus sprung at him, foaming with rage, and was instantly flung back against the wall, dragging with him not only the table-cloth, but all the wine, money, and cards upon it.
"I will have blood for this!" he shrieked, struggling with those who rushed in between. "I will have blood! Blood! Blood!"
Stained and streaming with red wine, he looked, in his ghastly rage, as if he was already bathed in the blood he thirsted for.
Dalrymple drew himself to his full height, and stood looking on with folded arms and a cold smile.
"I am quite ready," he said, "to give Monsieur le Vicomte full satisfaction."