After they had been playing a short time, Gaston’s attention was attracted by peals of laughter from a party at the other end of the room.
From this moment, preoccupied by this continued laughter, of which he was evidently the subject, he knocked the balls carelessly in every direction. His conduct surprised his friend, who said to him:
“What is the matter? You are missing the simplest shots.”
“It is nothing.”
The game went on a while longer, when Gaston suddenly turned as white as a sheet, and, throwing down his cue, strode toward the table which was occupied by five young men, playing dominoes and drinking wine.
He addressed the eldest of the group, a handsome man of twenty-six, with fierce-looking eyes, and a heavy black mustache, named Jules Lazet.
“Repeat, if you dare,” he said, in a voice trembling with passion, “the remark you just now made!”
“I certainly will repeat it,” said Lazet, calmly. “I said, and I say it again, that a nobleman’s daughter is no better than a mechanic’s daughter; that virtue does not always accompany a titled name.”
“You mentioned a particular name!”
Lazet rose from his chair as if he knew his answer would exasperate Gaston, and that from words they would come to blows.