"Curse his insolence!" cried the poet, slapping his sword.
"Lad, what an evil mind you have!" said the Chevalier in surprise.
"There is something below all this. Did he pay you those pistoles he lost to you in December?"
"To the last coin."
"Have you played with him since?"
"Yes, and won. Last night he won back the amount he lost to me; and with these fifty pistoles our accounts are square. What have you against the vicomte? I have always found him a man. And of all those who called themselves my friends, has not he alone stood forth?"
"There is some motive," still persisted the poet.
"Time will discover it."
"Oh, the devil, Paul! he loves Madame de Brissac; and my gorge rises at the sight of him."
"What! is all Paris in love with Madame de Brissac? You have explained your antipathy. Every man has a right to love."