I thought he would choke with rage. And at that instant an inner door opened and a man stepped through. He stopped in amazement as he saw our attitude.
“What is this, d’Aurilly?” he demanded sternly. “A duel—and in M. le Comte’s ante-chamber? Surely you know his need of quiet!”
D’Aurilly turned to the newcomer, his face working with passion.
“I was pressed beyond endurance, M. Letourge,” he said. “Look at this,” and he pointed to the mark of my hand still on his face.
“A blow!” and Letourge looked at me wrathfully. “Who are you, Monsieur, that you dare strike the Vicomte d’Aurilly?”
But my blood was up and my eyes were full on his. In my heart I knew that his eyes were honest eyes and his face an honest face, albeit a stern one.
“A gentleman whom he had insulted, Monsieur,” I answered proudly. “We of Marsan permit that from no man.”
But Letourge’s face had changed. He stood staring at me with starting eyes, as though not able to believe them. Then he pulled himself together and his face became like marble, lighted by two coals of fire.
“You are a bold man, Monsieur,” he said at last, in a voice that chilled me, “to set foot in this house. Methinks you will never leave it with your breath in your body.”
It was my turn to stare.