“You fail to distinguish, my dear sir, between war and play.”
Marcel drew himself up to his full height. Much taller than de Marthenay, he looked down on him contemptuously and said, “You fail to distinguish between respect and mere gallantry.”
Hearing the sound of this dialogue and fearing a scene, Madame Dulaurens came up to them. The title of one and the fame of the other were equally in her mind, and it suited her vanity to have the two officers in the party.
De Marthenay, unable to complain of the words addressed to him, tried to find an excuse for a quarrel, when Isabelle Orlandi came up like a whirl-wind and saved the compromising situation.
“Come here, Jean, quickly. Here is the dragoon.”
And with the unchecked caprice of a spoilt child she added quickly, “Show me your face!”
“But, Mademoiselle Orlandi—” protested the lieutenant, growing pale.
“Just for a minute, only just for a minute.”
She pretended to examine his face and said, as though she were presenting him to the public, “It’s simply wonderful! There’s not a mark.”
“What do you want of me?” stammered de Marthenay.