"Vous me flattez, M. le Vicomte. Quand on perd, on doit, au moins
l'avouer loyalement, et payer l'en jeu. Cette fois j'ai tant perdu, que
je ne prendrai pas la revanche."
Not another word was exchanged between them; but Armand had accepted
repulses in his time with more equanimity than he could muster when
ruminating afterward on the discomfiture of Royston Keene.
Some days later the subject was discussed at the Cercle, and one of the
_habitues_ hazarded several cunning conjectures, and more than cynical
surmises. (Did you ever hear a thoroughly profligate Frenchman sneer a
woman's character away? It is almost worth while overcoming your disgust
to listen to the diabolical ingenuity of his innuendoes. The scandal of
our bitterest dowagers sounds charitable by comparison.) The savage
outbreak of the Algerian's temper, that every one had long been
expecting, came at last with a vengeance.
"Tu mens, canaille! C'est le meilleur eloge de M. Keene, que les marans
comme toi, ne puissent le comprendre. Quand a Mademoiselle--elle vaut
mille fois tes soeurs, et ta mere. Si tu as le coeur de pousser
l'affaire, je te donnerai raison sur mes bequilles.
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