The Marquis de Lacheville took another glass, and then a third.
"You had best be careful how you heat your blood with this rich wine, de Lacheville, while that wound in your side is scarcely healed," remarked d'Arlincourt.
"Confound the wound, and curse the young villain who gave it me," growled de Lacheville. "I have been forced to lead the life of an anchorite for the past fortnight; but such nectar as this cannot inflame, it only soothes," and he reached out his hand toward the decanter. As he did so, the sound of guns reverberated again through the room, making the windows rattle and jarring the dishes on the table. The ladies in the adjoining room cried out in alarm, and d'Arlincourt rose and went to reassure them.
"I will go with you," said the chevalier, and he joined the count.
De Lacheville threw his napkin down upon the spot of wine that had splashed from his upraised glass upon the damask cloth.
"The devil take them!" he cried petulantly; then filling his glass again with an air of bravado, "will they not permit a man to breakfast in peace?"
"Your nerves must be badly shaken, de Lacheville, if you permit such a slight thing to disturb you," laughed St. Hilaire, filling a glass to the brim.
D'Arlincourt entered from the next room hurriedly. "I am going to see what all this firing means," he said. "Will you accompany me, gentlemen?"
"I make it a point never to seek for news or excitement, but rather allow them to come to me," said St. Hilaire leisurely. "You would better sit down and let me send a servant to ascertain the cause of this turmoil."
"Why leave the house in search of truth when we have with us an oracle in the shape of the chevalier?" interposed the Marquis de Lacheville.