; and, though he was far
from suspecting the truth, his long repressed anger burst forth. He rose
abruptly, took up a bottle, and filling the nearest glass, he rudely
exclaimed: "Come, drink that--make haste--and clear out!"

Victor Chupin must have become very sensitive since his conversion. In
former times he was not wont to be so susceptible as to lose his temper
when some one chanced to address him in a rather peremptory manner, or
to offer him wine out of the first available glass. But M. de Coralth
inspired him with one of those inexplicable aversions which cannot be
restrained "Eh! tell me if it's because we've drank champagne together
before that you talk to me like that?" the young fellow retorted,
savagely.

It was only a random shot, but it reached home. The viscount seemed
touched to the quick. "You hear that, Wilkie," said he. "This will teach
you that the time of your compatriot, Lord Seymour, has passed by. The
good-humored race of plebeians who respectfully submitted to the blows
with which noblemen honored them after drinking, has died out. This
ought to cure you of your unfortunate habit of placing yourself on terms
of equality with all the vagabonds you meet."

Chupin's hair fairly bristled with anger. "What! what!" he exclaimed;
"I'll teach you to call me a vagabond, you scoundrel!"

His gesture, his attitude, and his eyes were so expressive of defiance
and menace that two of the guests sprang up and caught him by the arm.
"Go, go," they said.

But he freed himself from their grasp. "Go!" he replied. "Never! He
called me a vagabond. Am I to pocket the insult quietly and walk off
with it? You can scarcely expect that. First, I demand an apology."

This was asking too much of the Viscount de Coralth. "Let the fool
alone," he remarked, with affected coolness, "and ring for the waiters
to kick him out."

It did not require this new insult to put Chupin in a furious passion.
"Come on!" he exclaimed. "Ah, ha! Where's the fellow who'll turn me out?
Let him come. I'll teach him a lesson!" And as he spoke he squared his
shoulders, inflated his chest, and threw the weight of his entire body
on his left leg, after the most approved method of sparring-masters.

"Go, go!" insisted Wilkie's friends.

"Yes, I'll go with pleasure, but your friend must go, too. Is he a man?
Then let him come, and we'll settle this outside." And seeing that they
were again trying to seize him: "Hands off!" he thundered, "or