Aulaire's convulsed countenance.
The nobleman's face, usually so debonair, was now white and seamed with
anger. All the hidden evil traits of his soul came out and stamped
themselves visibly on his countenance, in that heat of passion, like
characters written in a secret ink and brought near a flame.
"Monsieur l'Americain," he said, lowering his point and coming up quite
close to Calvert, "Monsieur, you have a trick of being damnably mal
apropos. I have had a lesson from you in skating and one in singing, but
I need none in love-making. My patience--never very great, I fear--is at
an end, sir! This intrusion, Monsieur l'Americain, is unpardonable,"
he went on, recovering his composure with a great effort,
"unpardonable--unless, indeed, Monsieur hoped to gain what I have just
lost," he added, smiling his brilliant, insolent smile, though he had to
half-kneel for support upon the marble edge of the fountain.
"Silence!" said Calvert, his white face filled with such sudden horror
and disgust that Monsieur de St. Aulaire burst out laughing.
"A poor compliment to you, Madame," he said to Adrienne.
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