Aulaire, half-rising and laying his hand again on his dress sword.
"I know it, Monsieur," retorted Calvert, coolly.
"You are not so cold-blooded after all! I have struck fire at last!"
said St. Aulaire, looking at Calvert for an instant and then breaking
into a drunken laugh as he reseated himself. "'Tis a pity Madame de St.
Andre has not my luck--for, look you, Monsieur," he went on, leaning
over the back of the chair and shaking his finger at Calvert, "I think
she likes you and would be kind--very kind--to you, should you be
inclined to return to Paris and tempt your fortune."
"Were you sober, Monsieur, I would ask you for five minutes and a pair
of pistols or rapiers, if you prefer," says Calvert, white and
threatening.
"By God, Monsieur, how dare you say I am drunk?" flings out the other,
rising so unsteadily as to overturn the chair, which crashed upon the
floor. "But I have no time for duels just now. I have other and more
important business in hand. Later--later, sir, and I will be at your
service. I add that insult to the long list I have against you. I will
punish you when the time comes, but first I must punish her.
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