"He struck me in the stomach, he struck me on the head, he kicked me!" roared the little Comte de Coigny. "Keep him away! Keep him away! Here he is! Here he is!"
The Countess de Pons screamed. A row of long-drawn faces turned on me, and the bankers and Deputies, the priests, and the Southern delegates made a hedge to protect the stricken one, and cooshed at me as if I were a cat. Cries of "Ah! polisson! Mauvais enfant! Regardez! Regardez!" filled the room, till the hubbub suddenly ceased at a stern voice that said "Patrick!"
It was my father, whose interview with De Morny was over. He stood at the open door, and I saw the Duke, who had peeped out, and whose quick intelligence had taken in the whole affair in a flash, vanishing with a smile on his face.
CHAPTER XIV THE RUINED ONES
"Go home!" said my father, putting me into the carriage. "I will return on foot. You have disgraced yourself; you have disgraced me. Hand yourself over to Joubert. You are to be a prisoner under lock and key until I devise some punishment to meet your case." Then, to the coachman: "Home, Lubin!" He clapped the door on me, and I was driven off, with his speech ringing in my ears, a speech which I believe was meant as much for the gallery as for me. This was my first encounter with the Comte de Coigny, and I believe I had the worst of it. But I was not thinking of De Coigny—I was thinking of little Eloise, of the Countess whose beauty haunted me, and of the Count, that noble-looking gentleman, now in prison.
Eloise had told me that their house in Paris was situated in the Faubourg St. Germain, and, as we turned out of the Rue de Lille, an inspiration came to me. I pulled the check-string, the carriage stopped, and I put my head out of the window.
"Lubin!"
"Well?"