Wilkie's head.
The worthy youth was frightened--so terribly frightened that his
teeth chattered. "Pardon!" he faltered.
"Louder--speak up better than that. Your mother must answer you!"
Alas! the poor woman could no longer hear. She had endured so
much during the past hour that her strength was exhausted, and she
had fallen back in her arm-chair in a deep swoon. The baron
waited for a moment, and seeing that her eyes remained obstinately
closed, he exclaimed: "This is your work, wretch!"
And lifting him again, as easily as if he had been a child, he set
him on his feet, saying in a calmer tone, but in one that admitted
of no reply: "Arrange your clothes and go."
This advice was not unnecessary. Baron Trigault had a powerful
hand; and M. Wilkie's attire was decidedly the worse for the
encounter. He had lost his cravat, his shirt-front was crumpled
and torn, and his waistcoat--one of those that open to the waist
and are fastened by a single button--hung down in the most
dejected manner. He obeyed the baron's order without a word, but
not without considerable difficulty, for his hands trembled like a
leaf. When he had finished, the baron exclaimed: "Now be off; and
never set foot here again--understand me--never set foot here
again, never!"
M. Wilkie made no reply until he reached the door leading into the
hall. But when he had opened it, he suddenly regained his powers
of speech.
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