“At least, it would appear, its delivery by a confidential messenger was not imperative?”
“À ce qu’il paraît,” said the duke, grinning again. “At least such a commission exhibited an excess of caution.”
All the bitterness of the poor young man’s soul seemed suddenly to flush his veins.
“It is thus, then,” he cried, “that you requite the hospitality lavished upon you and yours; that you take advantage of a generous sympathy extended to you, to serve your own selfish purposes at the expense of your entertainers. You deserve that no hand be put out to you but to strike you in the face, as it is in my heart to treat you, monsieur le duc!”
He spoke loudly enough, and all his muscles tightened to the prick of onset. M. David ran up—
“Ta-ta-ta!” he exclaimed; “what the devil is here?”
Egalité’s cheeks showed mottled white, like brawn.
“Be quiet,” he said. “This is M. le Vicomte Murk, who has put himself to inconvenience to deliver me a letter.”
His lips trembled a little. The wretched creature himself had a wretched nerve.
“Monsieur would seem to imply,” he said, “that I am a party to the circumstance of some discomfiture he has suffered. It needs only a little reflection to disabuse himself of so extravagant a supposition.”