At the word idiot, Dubourg, who had never liked the old jockey, for he had waited upon him with an ill grace during the whole of his sojourn at Monsieur Chambertin's, and had constantly sought opportunities to show his spite to him and to Ménard—Dubourg, who had not forgotten, either, the horsewhipping Lunel had given the two little Poles, turned suddenly upon him and struck him thrice with his knotted stick.
"Help! murder!" cried Lunel.
And as Dubourg's sudden movement had disarranged his hat, the old servant recognized his features, and shouted louder than ever:
"It's that miserable palatine, who owes four hundred francs at his restaurant! It's that sham baron, who showed madame such attention and surprised monsieur! Peste! he ain't such a swell now!"
"Will you hold your tongue, you rascal!" said Dubourg, raising his stick again.
"What are you hitting me for?"
"I am simply returning what you gave my servants; I've owed you this a long while."
"Your servants—your servants! pretty servants they were! I suppose this is my pourboire, because my master boarded you for a month, you and your great scholar, who ate enough for six!"
"If I did your master the honor to visit him, what business have you to make comments on it, you clown?"
"Oh, yes! a great honor you did him!"