eur, je suis
Fourieriste_, and you insult me.' Thereupon he sent me his card by the
waiter,--'Paul Deloge, for the house of Gougon, _pere et fils_.' I tore
it, and threw it away, saying, 'I never drink Bordeaux wines.' 'What do
you say to a glass of Hermitage, then?' said he, and flung the contents
of his own in my face. Wasn't that very ready? _I_ call it as neat a
thing as could be."

"And you bore that outrage," said I, in triumphant delight; "you
submitted to a flagrant insult like that at a public table?"

"I don't know what you call 'bearing it,'" said he; "the thing was done,
and I had only to wipe my face with my napkin."

"Nothing more?" said I, sneeringly.

"We went out, afterwards, if you mean _that_," said he, quietly, "and he
ran me through here." As he spoke, he proceeded, in leisurely fashion,
to unbutton the wrist of his shirt, and, baring his arm midway, showed
me a pinkish cicatrice of considerable extent. "It went, the doctor
said, within a hair's-breadth of the artery."

I made no comment upon this story. From the moment I heard it, I felt as
though I was travelling with the late Mr. Palmer, of Rugeley. I was as
it were in the company of one who never would have scrupled to dispose
of me, at any moment and in any way that his fancy suggested. My code
respecting the duel was to regard it as the last, the very last, appeal
in the direst emergency of dishonor. The men who regarded it as the
settlement of slight differences, I deemed assassins. They were no more
safe associates for peaceful citizens than a wolf was a meet companion
for a flock of South Downs. The more I ruminated on this theme, the
more indignant grew my resentment, and the question assumed the shape of
asking, "Is the great mass of mankind to be hectored and bullied by some
half-dozen scoundrels with skill at the small sword?" Little knew I that
in the ardor of my indignation I had uttered these words aloud,--spoken
them with an earnest vehemence, looking my fellow-traveller full in the
face, and frowning.

"Scoundrel is strong, eh?" said he, slowly; "_very_ strong!"

"Who spoke of a scoundrel?" asked I, in terror, for his confounded calm,
cold manner made my very blood run chilled.

"Scoundrel is exactly the sort of word," added he, deliberately, "that
once uttered can only be expiated in one way. You do not give me the
impression of a very bright individual, but certainly you can understand
so much."

I bowed a dignified as