“He'll not return, you think, you Judas!” she snarled at him, her lean, swarthy face growing very evil to see. “But he shall--by God, he shall! And look to your skin when he does, monsieur the catchpoll, for, on my honour, you shall have a foretaste of hell for your trouble in this matter.”
The Chevalier smiled with much restraint. “A woman's tongue,” said he, “does no injury.”
“Will a woman's arm, think you?” demanded that warlike matron. “You musk-stinking tipstaff, I'll--”
“Anne, my love,” implored the Vicomte soothingly, “I beg that you will control yourself.”
“Shall I submit to the insolence of this misbegotten vassal? Shall I--”
“Remember rather that it does not become the dignity of your station to address the fellow. We avoid venomous reptiles, but we do not pause to reproach them with their venom. God made them so.”
Saint-Eustache coloured to the roots of his hair, then, turning hastily to the driver, he bade him start. He would have closed the door with that, but that madame thrust herself forward.
That was the Chevalier's chance to be avenged. “You cannot go,” said he.
“Cannot?” Her cheeks reddened. “Why not, monsieur Lesperon?
“I have no reasons to afford you,” he answered brutally. “You cannot go.”
“Your pardon, Chevalier,” I interposed. “You go beyond your rights in seeking to prevent her. Monsieur le Vicomte is not yet convicted. Do not, I beseech you, transcend the already odious character of your work.”
And without more ado I shouldered him aside, and held the door that she might enter. She rewarded me with a smile--half vicious, half whimsical, and mounted the step. Saint-Eustache would have interfered. He came at me as if resenting that shoulder-thrust of mine, and for a second I almost thought he would have committed the madness of striking me.
“Take care, Saint-Eustache,” I said very quietly, my eyes fixed on his. And much as dead Caesar's ghost may have threatened Brutus with Philippi “We meet at Toulouse, Chevalier,” said I, and closing the carriage door I stepped back.
There was a flutter of skirts behind me. It was mademoiselle. So brave and outwardly so calm until now, the moment of actual separation--and added thereunto perhaps her mother's going and the loneliness that for herself she foresaw--proved more than she could endure. I stepped aside, and she swept past me and caught at the leather curtain of the coach.