This magnificent composure of my uncle's so completely disconcerted the lieutenant of the Customs that he stopped short. But he had been carried on too far by his hot meridional temper not to launch out again very soon. He followed up with a perfect flood of abuse, interlarded with the most approved insults, with violent epithets and noisy oaths. My uncle listened to him quietly, stroking his chin, and contemplating him as if watching the performance of some surprising feat. The Toulonnais said that he considered this fainting fit of his sister-in-law's, and the very unceremonious proceedings which had followed it, equally suspicious and irregular.
"My brother's honour has been outraged," and so on, he observed.
But at last the good fellow was obliged to pause in order to take breath. Barbassou-Pasha took advantage of the opening.
"Pray what is your name?" he asked, still smiling affably.
"My name, my good man," loftily replied the man of Toulon, "is Firmin Bonaffé, lieutenant in the Customs, seen twenty-one years of service and eleven campaigns. And if that is not enough for you——"
"Why, dear me! then this charming young person has married your brother, has she?"
"A week ago, sir, at Cadiz, where she lives! It was because he had to go back over the sea to Brazil that he confided her to my charge. And you must not imagine that I can let your outrageous behaviour to her pass without further notice, sir!"
"You are a man of spirit, sir, that I can see!" replied my uncle. He was gradually falling into his native assent, charmed, no doubt, by the soothing example of his adversary. "I can understand your feelings," he continued; "and for my part, my good fellow, I confess I should not have the slightest objection to taking a sabre and slicing off a piece of your person." (He uttered this latter word, individu, in French, with the Marseillais pronunciation, inndividu.) "Indeed," he continued quite placidly, "I should have no objection to throwing you through the window here, just as you are."
This, following upon his imperturbable coolness throughout, had, I can aver, a most aggravating effect. Being a little man and a braggart, Firmin Bonaffé felt the insult all the more hotly.
"Throw me through the window? Me!" he exclaimed, drawing himself up as if he wanted to touch the sky. "Try then! Just try!"