“Well, General,” said De la Riviere, rising with great formality, “what may I do to serve you? Will you join our party?” He motioned to a chair.
The old man’s lips were set and stern, and he vouchsafed no reply to the hospitable request.
“Monsieur,” he said, “to-day you threw dirt at my great master. He is of royal blood, and he may not fight you. But I, monsieur, his General, demand satisfaction—swords or pistols!”
De la Riviere sat down, leaned back in his chair, and laughed. Without a word the old man stepped forward, and struck him across the mouth with his red cotton handkerchief.
“Then take that, monsieur,” said he, “from one who fought for the First Napoleon, and will fight for this Napoleon against the tongue of slander and the acts of fools. I killed two Prussians once for saying that the Great Emperor’s shirt stuck out below his waistcoat. You’ll find me at the Louis Quinze,” he added, before De la Riviere, choking with wrath, could do more than get to his feet; and, wheeling, he left the room.
The young Seigneur would have followed him, but the avocat laid a restraining hand upon his arm, and Medallion said: “Dear Seigneur, see, you can’t fight him. The parish would only laugh.”
De la Riviere took the advice, and on Sunday, over the coffee, unburdened the tale to Madame Chalice.
Contrary to his expectations, she laughed a great deal, then soothed his wounded feelings and advised him as Medallion had done. And because Valmond commanded the old sergeant to silence, the matter ended for the moment. But it would have its hour yet, and Valmond knew this as well as did the young Seigneur.