“Her brother!” repeated Felix in a mocking tone, as soon as Fleurange disappeared. “Well, I have no reason to be offended. She looks upon you as a boy, that is quite clear. It is for you to complain, if this does not suit you.”
“It does suit me, on the contrary;” said Clement in a decided tone. “I accept the title she gives me, and I know, when occasion requires it, how to fulfil the obligations it imposes, and when to claim my rights.”
“Rights! What rights?”
“The right, certainly, of protecting her! You see, boy as I am, she has conferred it on me. It is one which I will never surrender, and would quite willingly maintain against you, Felix, if necessary.”
“What source of inspiration have you drawn from to-day, my fine
scholar? You are not generally so fluent. Indeed, if you were only a few years older, I should imagine the large gray eyes of our fair, disdainful cousin had fascinated you in your turn.”
Clement did not look up; he neither blushed nor was vexed.
“Felix,” said he, “I am only nineteen years old, it is true, and you are ten years older; but I have one advantage which the younger does not generally possess: you do not know me. But I,” continued he, looking him full in the face, “as you are aware, I know you well.”
At these words a black look came over Felix’s face, he bit his lips, and would perhaps have made some angry reply had not the three girls appeared at the end of the alley. At the sight of them Felix abruptly turned around, and, leaping on his horse, galloped off, slightly waving his hand to Julian Steinberg, whom he met at the garden gate.
Fleurange and her two cousins approached to meet Clara’s betrothed. “I am late,” said he to Clara, “but you must not think it is my fault. I have been detained by an unexpected meeting. Count George is here.”