"You seem inclined to take your rival extremely tragically," rallied Pistasch.
"This is the tenth time, at least, that I have heard the story," said Oswald angrily.
"You'll have an irritable son-in-law, Truyn, at all events," interposed Sempaly with a sneer.
At this moment Pistasch, whose rage for popularity was always on the alert, called out over the heads of Sempaly and Truyn, "Good evening," to a tall, red-haired young man who had slowly made his way to the front of the pit. With delight in his eyes and a succession of nods, the red-head acknowledged the greeting.
"Who is that?" asked Georges.
"The surveyor's clerk who assisted at the polls to-day--an old acquaintance of mine," said Pistasch.
Oswald's glance fell upon the red-head. He had recognised in the man at the polls the same whom he had struck in the face with his riding-whip, in the dingy little inn-parlour. The encounter in the morning had made no impression upon him, but now....
"Good Heavens, how ill you look!" exclaimed Truyn.
"I feel wretchedly," said Oswald in a forced voice, putting his hand to his head, "do not let me disturb you, I will go home."
"You make me anxious, my boy," said Truyn, "wait a moment, and I will go with you."