"
D'Herouville's eyes were full of venom. "It wants only the poet to
challenge me, and the circle will be complete. I will fight the poet
and the vicomte; they come from no doubtful source. As for you, I will
do you the honor to hire a trooper to take my place. Fight you? You
make me laugh against my will! And as for threats, listen to me.
Strike me, and by the gods! Madame shall learn who you are, or,
rather, who you pretend to be." The count whistled a bar of music,
swung about cavalierly, and retraced his steps toward the lower town.
The Chevalier stared at his retreating figure till it sank below the
level of the ridge. He was without redress; he was impotent;
D'Herouville would do as he said. God! He struck his hands together
in his despair, forgetful that madame saw his slightest movement. When
he recollected her, he moved toward her. Madame. D'Herouville had
called her madame.
On seeing him approach her first desire was to move in the same
direction; that is to say, to keep the distance at its present measure.
A thousand questions flitted through her brain. She had heard a
sentence which so mystified her that the impulse to flee went as
suddenly as it came.
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