“You see now, however, that you have mistaken me—that you have read me rather as one of your own people than as a Frenchman,” said the other, warmly.
“I certainly see that I must not speak to you with frankness, and I shall use caution not to offend you by candor.”
“This is not enough, sir,” said the Frenchman, rising and staring angrily at him.
“What is not enough?” said Longworth, with a perfect composure.
“Not enough for apology, sir; not enough as amende for an unwarrantable and insolent calumny.”
“You are getting angry at the sound of your own voice, Pracontal. I now tell you that I never meant—never could have meant—to offend you. You came to me for a counsel which I could only give by speaking freely what was in my mind. This is surely enough for explanation.”
“Then let it all be forgotten at once,” cried the other, warmly.
“I 'll not go that far,” said Longworth, in the same calm tone as before. “You have accepted my explanation; you have recognized what one moment of justice must have convinced you of—that I had no intention to wound your feelings. There is certainly, however, no reason in the world why I should expose my own to any unnecessary injury. I have escaped a peril; I have no wish to incur another of the same sort.”
“I don't think I understand you,” said Pracontal, quickly. “Do you mean we should quarrel?”
“By no means.”