“Oh, he will do it.”
Just as Valentin, curious to learn the matter of the wager, came up to pay closer attention to what they were saying, a tall, strong, good-looking young fellow, who, however, possessed the impertinent stare peculiar to people who have material force at their back, came out of the billiard-room.
“I am deputed, sir,” he said coolly addressing the Marquis, “to make you aware of something which you do not seem to know; your face and person generally are a source of annoyance to every one here, and to me in particular. You have too much politeness not to sacrifice yourself to the public good, and I beg that you will not show yourself in the Club again.”
“This sort of joke has been perpetrated before, sir, in garrison towns at the time of the Empire; but nowadays it is exceedingly bad form,” said Raphael drily.
“I am not joking,” the young man answered; “and I repeat it: your health will be considerably the worse for a stay here; the heat and light, the air of the saloon, and the company are all bad for your complaint.”
“Where did you study medicine?” Raphael inquired.
“I took my bachelor’s degree on Lepage’s shooting-ground in Paris, and was made a doctor at Cerizier’s, the king of foils.”
“There is one last degree left for you to take,” said Valentin; “study the ordinary rules of politeness, and you will be a perfect gentlemen.”
The young men all came out of the billiard-room just then, some disposed to laugh, some silent. The attention of other players was drawn to the matter; they left their cards to watch a quarrel that rejoiced their instincts. Raphael, alone among this hostile crowd, did his best to keep cool, and not to put himself in any way in the wrong; but his adversary having ventured a sarcasm containing an insult couched in unusually keen language, he replied gravely:
“We cannot box men’s ears, sir, in these days, but I am at a loss for any word by which to stigmatize such cowardly behavior as yours.”