"It is true, monsieur," said I, trying to keep my temper, "I have the honour of being one of Madame Belmont's friends."
"And I am one of M. Belmont's friends, monsieur, and as such am commissioned to bring his wife back to him at Nantes, where she will remain under the surveillance of my spouse until the return of her husband, my friend Belmont, which will not be very long."
"You call yourself the friend of Belmont?" said I to Duvallon, staring at him fixedly. "Do you know what that man is?"
"That man,—that man is as good as any other man, morbleu!" cried out Duvallon, rising quickly from his seat.
I remained seated.
"That man is a brigand, monsieur! That man is an assassin, monsieur! a murderer!" and I accented with an imperious and resolute nod each one of these charges.
"If you were not in your own house!" said Duvallon to me as he doubled up his fists.
"I am not a child, monsieur, and your threats are ridiculous. Let us speak frankly and have it out. The proof that your friend is an assassin is that I was wounded by him on board of a yacht that he attacked in the Mediterranean; is that clear? The proof that your friend is a brigand is that I was on board of the same yacht, which he villainously wrecked off the coast of the island of Malta; is that clear? And to conclude, the proof that these accusations are true is that the English ambassador to France and the Foreign Office, informed by me of the presence of this wretch in Paris, have taken measures for his arrest, which would have been successful if you, on his wedding day, had not helped him to escape from justice."
Duvallon looked at me stupidly; he bit his lips with rage. I continued:
"Neither Madame Belmont nor her aunt have heard a word of all this, monsieur; but I solemnly declare to you that, if you insist upon carrying away Madame Belmont from her aunt, I will tell them the whole story, and at the same time advise them to seek legal advice, or put this affair in the hands of justice."