Any one else would have been overcome with shame and
sorrow--would have been frightened by the thought of what he had
done, and have striven to find some way to conceal his disgrace;
but he, not in the least. In this frightful crisis, he was only
conscious of one fact--that just as he raised his hand to strike
Madame Lia d'Argeles, his mother, a big, burly individual had
burst into the room, like a bombshell, caught him by the throat,
forced him upon his knees, and compelled him to ask the lady's
pardon. He, Wilkie, to be humiliated in this style! He would
never endure that. This was an affront he could not swallow, one
of those insults that cry out for vengeance and for blood. "Ah!
the great brute shall pay for it," he repeated, again and again,
grinding his teeth. And if he hastened up the boulevard, it was
only because he hoped to meet his two chosen friends, M. Costard
and the Viscount de Serpillon, the co-proprietors of Pompier de
Nanterre.
For he intended to place his outraged honor in their care. They
should be his seconds, and present his demand for satisfaction to
the man who had insulted him. A duel was the only thing that
could appease his furious anger and heal his wounded pride. And a
great scandal, which he would be the hero of, was not without a
certain charm for him. What a glorious chance to win notoriety at
an epoch when newspapers have become public laundries, in which
every one washes his soiled linen and dries it in the glare of
publicity! He saw his already remarkable reputation enhanced by
the interest that always attaches to people who are talked about,
and he could hear in advance the flattering whisper which would
greet his appearance everywhere: "You see that young man?--he is
the hero of that famous adventure," etc.
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