As though propelled from a catapult, the lank form in one bound shot over the end of the bed, threw two chairs in front of him as a rampart, snatched out his sword, and beheld, in this bellicose posture, no horrid band of Jacobins, but the lithe figure of Barabant, laughing silently, with folded arms.
"Tonnerre de Dieu! Why did you do that?"
Dossonville returned the sword to the scabbard, pushed aside the rampart, and extended his hand, saying, "I was asleep; serves me right; but you have a rude manner of jesting."
"I did not suspect your conscience was so uneasy," Barabant said, retaining the quizzical smile.
"Oho!"
With his lips in this startled oval, Dossonville halted. His eyes contracted into slits as he said dryly, "So that was a ruse."
"If you like."
"Hello! it was well conceived. Tiens, tiens, tiens!" His eyes continued their scrutiny. "I have, perhaps, not done justice to your acumen. My compliments and my excuses."
He swung his bonnet in a long, awkward, trailing swoop across his feet. Barabant executed a bow of equal assurance.
Dossonville returned to uprightness with a snap of his heels, and a certain asperity rang in the next question.