“You are capitally gotten up,” she said to him in a low, tone, so low that he had to bend down nearer her to hear, “and I am sure that no fierce Spanish captain ever had a more superbly arrogant air than you.”
The Duke of Vallombreuse drew himself up to his full height, and looked this unwelcome new-comer over from head to foot, with an air of the coolest, most haughty disdain. “This must be the contemptible scoundrel they say she’s in love with,” he said to himself, swelling with indignation and spite—filled with amazement too—for he could not conceive of a woman’s hesitating for an instant between the magnificent young Duke of Vallombreuse and this ridiculous play-actor. After the first rapid glance he made as if he did not perceive de Sigognac at all, no more than if he had been a piece of furniture standing there; for him Captain Fracasse was not a man, but a thing, and he continued to gaze fixedly at poor Isabelle—his eyes fairly blazing with passion—exactly as though no one was near. She, confused at last, and alarmed, blushed painfully, in spite of all her efforts to appear calm and unmoved, and hastened to finish what little remained to be done, so that she might make her escape, for she could see de Sigognac’s hand close spasmodically on the handle of his sword, and, realizing how he must be feeling, feared an outbreak on his part. With trembling fingers she adjusted a little black “mouche” near the corner of her pretty mouth, and pushed back her chair preparatory to rising from it—having a legitimate cause for haste, as the tyrant had already more than once roared out from the stage door, “Mesdemoiselles, are you ready?”
“Permit me, mademoiselle,” said the duke starting forward, “you have forgotten to put on an ‘assassine,’” and touching the tip of his forefinger to his lips he plunged it into the box of patches standing open on the dressing-table, and brought one out on it. “Permit me to put it on for you—here, just above your snowy bosom; it will enhance its exquisite whiteness.”
The action followed so quickly upon the words that Isabelle, terrified at this cruel effrontery, had scarcely time to start to one side, and so escape his profane touch; but the duke was not one to be easily balked in anything he particularly desired to do, and pressing nearer he again extended his hand towards Isabelle’s white neck, and had almost succeeded in accomplishing his object, when his arm was seized from behind, and held firmly in a grasp of iron.
Furiously angry, he turned his head to see who had dared to lay hands upon his sacred person, and perceived that it was the odious Captain Fracasse.
“My lord duke,” said he calmly, still holding his wrist firmly, “Mademoiselle is in need of no assistance from you, or any one else, in this matter.” Then his grasp relaxed and he let go of the duke’s arm.
Vallombreuse, who looked positively hideous at that moment, his face pale to ghastliness and disfigured by the rage he felt, grasped the hilt of his sword with the hand released by de Sigognac, and drew it partly out of its scabbard, as if he meant to attack him, his eyes flashing fire and every feature working in its frenzy—the baron meanwhile standing perfectly motionless, quietly awaiting the onset.
But ere he had touched him the duke stopped short; a sudden thought had extinguished his blazing fury like a douche of cold water; his self-control returned, his face resumed its wonted expression, the colour came to his lips, and his eyes showed the most icy disdain, the most supreme contempt that it could be possible for one human being to manifest for another. He had remembered just in time that he must not so greatly demean himself as to cross swords with a person of no birth, and an actor besides; all his pride revolted at the bare idea of such a thing. An insult coming from a creature so low in the social scale could not reach him. Does a gentleman declare war upon the mud that bespatters him? However, it was not in his character to leave an offence unpunished, no matter whence it proceeded, and stepping nearer to de Sigognac he said, “You impertinent scoundrel, I will have every bone in your body broken for you with cudgels, by my lackeys.”
“You’d better take care what you do, my lord,” answered the baron, in the most tranquil tone and with the most careless air imaginable, “you’d much better take care what you do! My bones are not so easily broken, but cudgels may be. I do not put up with blows anywhere but on the stage.”
“However insolent you may choose to be, you graceless rascal, you cannot provoke me to do you so much honour as to attack you myself; that is too high an ambition for such as you to realize,” said Vallombreuse, scornfully.