At the words and the mocking laughter, Calvert's wrath blazed up
uncontrollably. He went over to St. Aulaire, where he knelt on the
basin, and, catching him again by the collar, shook him to and fro
without mercy.
"Another word, sir, and I will toss you into this fountain with the hope
that you break your head against the bottom! And now, go!"
The water in the marble basin was not very deep, but St. Aulaire did not
covet a ducking--'twould be too good a theme for jests at his expense;
and though he could still laugh and talk insolently, he felt weak and in
no condition to prevent Calvert from carrying out his threat. Retreat
seemed to be all left to him. With a sour smile he got upon his feet,
and, making an elaborate courtesy to Madame de St. Andre, passed
through the colonnade from the bosquet.
When he had quite disappeared, Calvert turned to the young girl. She
still stood by the bubbling fountain, pale between anger and fright, one
hand yet pressed against her throat, the other clenched and hanging by
her side. At her feet the white rose lay crushed and unheeded. As
Calvert looked at the wilful, beautiful girl before him, he comprehended
for the first time that he loved her--loved and mistrusted her.
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