“I need not ask the same of you, Monsieur Dominique Gayarre. Your business I can tell well enough ha! ha! ha!”
“I ask you, Sir,” he repeated, in a still angrier tone, “what’s your business here?”
“I did not come here on business, Monsieur,” said I, still keeping up the tone of levity. “I did not come here on business, any more than yourself.”
The emphasis on the last words seemed to render him furious.
“The sooner you go the better, then,” he shouted, with a bullying frown.
“For whom?” I inquired.
“For yourself, Sir,” was the reply.
I had now also lost temper, though not altogether command of myself.
“Monsieur,” said I, advancing and confronting him, “I have yet to learn that the house of Mademoiselle Besançon is the property of Monsieur Dominique Gayarre. If it were so, I would be less disposed to respect the sanctity of its roof. You, Sir, have not respected it. You have acted infamously towards this young girl—this young lady, for she merits the title as much as the best blood in your land. I have witnessed your dastardly conduct, and heard your insulting proposals—”
Here Gayarre started, but said nothing. I continued—