Luck had served him far better than he could ever know. He had stabbed at the rawest wound of all, the most torturing memory. The Marquis swung round with clenched hands.
“And who gave you the right to make suppositions about the private affairs of the Duc and Duchesse de Trélan, Monsieur?” he demanded in a voice of hardly suppressed fury.
The Comte got off the table and looked at him.
“The same Fates, I imagine,” he answered coolly, “which caused the Duchesse to stand, in her lifetime, so sadly in need of some champion, by making her husband what he was—what he is!”
And at that the string snapped entirely. M. de Kersaint strode round the table. “Mort de ma vie! this is insufferable! Monsieur de Brencourt, I have borne insolence and innuendo from you long enough! I have been far too patient——”
“The innuendo, Monsieur,” broke in de Brencourt with a grim exultation, “the innuendo, since you term it so, shall be dropped. God knows I desire nothing better! Anything that I have said of the Duc de Trélan I will repeat to the Duc de Trélan’s face. You cannot retort that that is an idle boast! Have I not recently seen a certain portrait in primrose satin at Mirabel?”
The original of that portrait put his hand for a second over his eyes. But it was only for a second; then he faced his enemy, his head high, and said, with blazing scorn,
“It is an idle boast, and a cowardly! You have insulted me past endurance—have gone on doing it—and yet you know I cannot demand satisfaction. Is that chivalry?”
“Cannot demand satisfaction?” cried the Comte de Brencourt with a sneer. “And why not, pray? Are you still intent on keeping up the farce of the Duc de Trélan’s being somewhere far away—somewhere safe—somewhere where you have to write letters to him . . . the farce of his not being in this very room, standing on the identical spot you are standing on now?”
“You know I do not mean that!” retorted M. de Kersaint, white with fury. “I mean that you have gone on in your underhand and venomous persecution, knowing that, placed in such a position as mine, I could not call you to account for it. You have done a despicable thing knowing that you were safe from consequences, but some day—some day, by God,—you shall give me full reparation for your conduct!”