One evening he was unusually late in returning, and when he came was accompanied by seven or eight companions, some younger, some older than himself, but all men whose air and bearing bespoke their rank in life, while their names recalled the thoughts of old French chivalry. I remember among them was a Coigny, a Grammont, and Rouchefoucauld—the last as lively a specimen of Parisian wit and brilliancy as ever fluttered along the sunny Boulevards.
De Marsanne, while endeavoring to enjoy himself and entertain his guests, was, to my thinking, more serious than usual, and seemed impatient at D'Egville's absence, for whose coming we now waited supper.
"I should not wonder if he was lost in the deep mud of those cross-roads," said Coigny.
"Or perhaps he has fallen into the Republic," said Rouchefoucauld, "it's the only thing dirtier that I know of."
"Monsieur forgets that I wear its cloth," said I in a low whisper to him; and low as it was De Marsanne overheard it.
"Yes, Charles," cried he, "you must apologize, and on the spot, for the rudeness."
Rouchefoucauld reddened and hesitated.
"I insist, sir," cried De Marsanne, with a tone of superiority I had never seen him assume before.
"Perhaps," said he, with a half-sneer, "Monsieur de Tiernay might refuse to accept my excuses?"
"In that case, sir," interposed De Marsanne, "the quarrel will become mine, for he is my guest, and lives here under the safeguard of my honor."