“Have you anything further with me?” interjected Saint-Prosper, curtly.
The patroon’s blood coursed, burning, through his veins; the other’s contemptuous manner stung him more fiercely than language.
“Yes,” he said, meaningly, his eyes challenging Saint-Prosper’s. “Have you been at Spedella’s fencing rooms? Are you in practice?”
Saint-Prosper hesitated a moment and the land baron’s face fell. Was it possible the other would refuse to meet him? But he would not let him off easily; there were ways to force––and suddenly the words of the marquis recurring to him, he surveyed the soldier, disdainfully.
“Gad! you must come of a family of cowards and traitors! But you shall fight or––the public becomes arbiter!” And he half raised his arm threateningly.
The soldier’s tanned cheek was now as pale as a moment before it had been flushed; his mouth set resolutely, as though fighting back some weakness. With lowering brows and darkening glance he regarded the land baron.
“I was thinking,” he said at length, with an effort, “that if I killed you, people would want to know the reason.”
The patroon laughed. “How solicitous you are for her welfare––and mine! Do you then measure skill only by inches? If so, I confess you would stand a fair chance of despatching me. But your address? The St. Charles, I presume.” 244 The soldier nodded curtly, and, having accomplished his purpose, Mauville had turned to leave, when loud voices, in a front box near the right aisle, attracted general attention from those occupying that part of the grand stand. The young officer who had accompanied Susan to the races was angrily confronting a thick-set man, the latest recruit to her corps of willing captives. The lad had assumed the arduous task of guarding the object of his fancy from all comers, simply because she had been kind. And why should she not have been?––he was only a boy––she was old enough to be––well, an adviser! When, after a brief but pointed altercation, he flung himself away with a last reproachful look in the direction of his enslaver, Susan looked hurt. That was her reward for being nice to a child!
“A fractious young cub!” said the thick-set man, complacently.
“Well, I like cubs better than bears!” retorted Susan, pointedly.