"Apologise! I! Moi!—genie de France! Never!" retorted Miraudin with an air of swaggering audacity, "All women are alike! I speak from experience!"
White to the lips, the Marquis Fontenelle looked around.
"Are there any MEN here?" he asked, eying the crowd about him with ineffable hauteur.
A young fellow stepped forward. "At your command, Marquis! You served me once—I shall be happy to serve you now!"
Quickly Fontenelle shook hands with this timely friend. He recognised in him a young Italian officer, named Ruspardi, an acquaintance of some years back, to whom he had chanced to be useful in a pressing moment of need.
"Thanks! Arrange everything for me, will you, Ruspardi? And as quickly as possible!"
"It is nearly midnight now," said Ruspardi in a low tone, "Shall we say five or six in the morning?"
"Yes—anything you like—but quickly!"
Then raising his head haughtily, he addressed Miraudin in distinct tones.
"Monsieur Miraudin, you have greatly insulted and falsely slandered a lady whom I have the honour to know. I have struck you for your lie; and consider you worthy of no further treatment save a horsewhipping in public. Gentlemen do not as a rule condescend to meet their paid servants—actors and the like,—in single combat—but I will do you that honour!"