“Monsieur le Marquis de Smellismelli!”
If possible the Marquis was more magnificently attired even than the Duc, and went through the salutation with the easy grace of a man who had often appeared in Court.
“Who is he?” asked every one.
“An old college friend,” explained the Duc.
But his face was the colour of his handkerchief, and the place shook with the trembling of his limbs.
The marquis quickly made himself at home, and vied with his host in his eagerness to take the Donna Velvetina down to supper.
The Duc’s face darkened visibly in proportion as that of his guest beamed; and to those who looked on, it was evident that a scene was imminent.
At length, when for the nineteenth time the lady accepted the arm of the gallant marquis, the Duc ground his teeth, and stepping up to his rival, pulled his nose.
The marquis in return flung the Duc the entire length of the apartments, and with folded arms calmly awaited the result.
“We fight, Monsieur le Marquis,” ground out the smarting Duc.