Hearing, however, the unmistakable sound behind his back of a
sword drawn from the scabbard, he had no option but to stop.
"Devil take this mad Southerner!" he thought, spinning round and
surveying with composure the warlike posture of Lieut. Feraud, with a
bare sword in his hand.
"At once!--at once!" stuttered Feraud, beside himself.
"You had my answer," said the other, keeping his temper very well.
At first he had been only vexed, and somewhat amused; but now his face
got clouded. He was asking himself seriously how he could manage to
get away. It was impossible to run from a man with a sword, and as
to fighting him, it seemed completely out of the question. He waited
awhile, then said exactly what was in his heart.
"Drop this! I won't fight with you. I won't be made ridiculous."
"Ah, you won't?" hissed the Gascon. "I suppose you prefer to be made
infamous. Do you hear what I say? . . . Infamous! Infamous! Infamous!"
he shrieked, rising and falling on his toes and getting very red in the
face.
Lieut.
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