'There is a little space behind the church of St Jacques, M.
l'Etranger,' I said, putting on my hat and taking my cloak on my
arm. 'Doubtless you will accompany me thither?'
He snatched up his hat, his face burning with shame and rage.
'With pleasure!' he blurted out. 'To the devil, if you like!'
I thought the matter arranged, when the Marquis laid his hand on
the young fellow's arm and checked him.
'This must not be,' he said, turning from him to me with his
grand, fine-gentleman's air. 'You know me, M. de Berault. This
matter has gone far enough.'
'Too far! M. de Pombal,' I answered bitterly. 'Still, if you
wish to take your friend's place, I shall raise no objection.'
'Chut, man!' he retorted, shrugging his shoulders negligently.
'I know you, and I do not fight with men of your stamp. Nor need
this gentleman.'
'Undoubtedly,' I replied, bowing low, 'if he prefers to be caned
in the streets.'
That stung the Marquis.
'Have a care! have a care!' he cried hotly. 'You go too far,
M. Berault.'
'De Berault, if you please,' I objected, eyeing him sternly.
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