He fell back upon his chair, suffocated, strangled by the confession that wrath had extorted from him at last.
[XXIX]
The marquis was thunderstruck by this outbreak, for which he was entirely unprepared, the culprit had up to that moment put so bold a face on the matter, and made his frequent interruptions with so natural an air.
He recovered first, as may be imagined, and grasping D'Alvimar's convulsively twitching wrist with his long, sinewy hand:
"Miserable wretch!" he exclaimed with crushing contempt, "you should thank Heaven for making you my guest; for, were it not for the promise I have given to protect you, a promise which protects you from myself, I would beat out your brains against the wall of this room!"
Lucilio, fearing a struggle, had seized the knife which lay on the table. D'Alvimar saw his movement and was afraid. He threw off the marquis's hands and grasped the hilt of his sword.
"Let your mind be at rest, fear nothing in this house," said Bois-Doré, calmly. "We are not assassins!"
"Nor am I, monsieur," rejoined D'Alvimar, seemingly overcome by this dignified procedure, "and since you do not propose to disregard the laws of honor, I will attempt to justify myself."
"Justify yourself? Nonsense! you are convicted and doomed by your contradiction of me, and that is why I disdain to notice it!"
"Keep your disdain for those who endure insult in silence. If I had done so, you would not have suspected me! I repelled the insult! I repel it again!"