Stephane, for it was he, reddened with anger and raised his whip
with a threatening air; but with a blow of his stick Gilbert sent
it flying into the bottom of a ditch, twenty paces distant.

When he looked at the young man again, he repented of what he had
done, for his expression was terrible to behold; his pallor became
livid; all the muscles of his face contracted, and his body was
agitated by convulsive movements; in vain he tried to speak, his
voice died upon his lips, and reason seemed deserting him. He tore
off one of his gloves, and tried to throw it in Gilbert's face, but
it fell from his trembling hand. For an instant he looked with a
scornful and reproachful glance at that slender hand whose weakness
he cursed; then tears gushed in abundance from his eyes, he hung
his head over the neck of his horse, and in a choking voice
murmured:

"For the love of God, if you do not wish me to die of rage, give me
back,--give me back--"

He could not finish; but Gilbert had already run to the ditch, and
having picked up the riding-whip, as well as the glove, returned
them to him. Stephane, without looking at him, answered by a
slight inclination of the head, but kept his eyes fixed upon the
pommel of his saddle,--evidently striving to recover his self-
possession. Gilbert, pitying his state of mind, turned to leave;
but at the moment he stooped to pick up his portmanteau and cane,
the youth, with a well-directed blow of his whip, struck off his
hat, which rolled into the ditch, and when Gilbert, surprised and
indignant, was about to throw himself upon the young traitor, he
had already pushed his horse to a full gallop, and in the twinkling