A few minutes passed, when a quick, firm step came up the stairs, and Rosny entered.
"How are you again, Dick?" said Meredith.
"Good evening, Mr. Rosny," echoed Stubb, who sat alone on the window seat.
"Eh? what's that?" demanded Rosny, turning sharp round upon the last speaker, with a face divided between indignation and laughter.
"I said, 'Good evening,'" replied Stubb, much disconcerted.
"And why didn't you say, 'Good morning,' yesterday, eh?—when I met you in Boston, eh? He gave me the cut direct," turning to the company. "Mr. Benjamin Stubb, here, gave me the cut direct! It was the pepper-and-salt coat and the thunder-and-lightning breeches that Stubb couldn't think of bowing to when he was walking in —— Street, with a lady. Look here, Stubb,"—again facing the victim,—"what do you take me for? and what the devil do you take yourself for? I know your dirty family history. Your grandfather was a bricklayer, and the Lord knows who your great grandfather was. The best Huguenot blood of France runs in my veins! My ancestors were fighting at Ivry and Jarnac, while yours were peddling coal and potatoes about London streets, or digging mud in a ditch, for any thing you or I know to the contrary." Stubb gasped. "Your father has a crest painted on his carriage; but where did he get it? Why, Cribb, the engraver, stole it for him out of the British peerage."
Stubb, who was weak and timorous, here rose in great confusion, muttered something about conduct unbecoming to a gentleman, and meaning to require an explanation, and abruptly left the room.
"That job is finished," said Rosny, composedly seating himself. "His bill is settled for him."
"But, Dick," said Morton, who had been laughing in his sleeve during the scene, "do you want to be considered as a Frenchman or an American?"
"I'm an American," answered Rosny—"an American and a democrat, every inch."