“Pardon, but will you kindly permit us to enter?”
Sir Gavin turned around, without making way in the least, and quietly surveyed his son for a whole minute.
“I asked,” said Gavin, slightly raising his voice, “if you would kindly permit us to enter.”
The little scene had attracted the attention of those near by, and it was perfectly well known who Gavin was. Kaunitz, who heartily disliked Sir Gavin, watched with a sly smile the outcome of this novel encounter, and anxiously hoped for the baronet’s discomfiture.
Gavin met Sir Gavin’s cold, impassive glance with one full of a steady defiance. They were very unlike, this father and son—Sir Gavin, small, slight, and pale, and Gavin, tall and well developed for his twenty years; but when they stood face to face, defying each other, as it were, a strange likeness came out between them—no one could doubt then their relationship.
After a moment more Gavin coolly unbuckled his sword, and handing it to St. Arnaud, said:
“The Empress Queen gave me that sword with her own hand; therefore, it shall touch no unworthy thing.” And as quick as a flash he seized Sir Gavin around the waist, and setting him aside, as if he were a chair, or any other piece of light furniture, walked in, followed by St. Arnaud, who handed him his sword.
There was a burst of suppressed laughter, in which Kaunitz’s delighted cackle could be heard. Sir Gavin, pale with rage, was yet indomitable, and looked about him with an unabashed front. Kaunitz, whose opportunity it was, sauntered up, smiling blandly.
“My dear Sir Gavin, I feel the utmost sympathy for you. Most disrespectful of your son.”
“Yes, he is my son,” slowly replied Sir Gavin, “but—”