only appearance of consciousness of the affront, was given by his drawing
back his chair and placing his legs beneath it, as for protection.

This last insult, and the tame forbearance with which it was submitted
to, produced all their opposite effects upon the by-standers, and
looks of ungovernable rage and derisive contempt were every moment
interchanging; indeed, were it not for the all-absorbing interest which
the two great actors in the scene had concentrated upon themselves, the
two parties must have come at once into open conflict.

The clock of the cafe struck nine, the hour at which Gendemar always
retired, so calling to the waiter for his petit verre of brandy, he
placed his newspaper upon the table, and putting both his elbows upon it,
and his chin upon his hands, he stared full in Trevanion's face, with a
look of the most derisive triumph, meant to crown the achievement of the
evening. To this, as to all his former insults, Trevanion appeared still
insensible, and merely regarded him with his never--changing half smile;
the petite verre arrived; le Capitaine took it in his hand, and, with a
nod of most insulting familiarity, saluted Trevanion, adding with a loud
voice, so as to be heard on every side--"a votre courage, Anglais." He
had scarcely swallowed the liqueur when Trevanion rose slowly from his
chair, displaying to the astonished gaze of the Frenchman the immense
proportions and gigantic frame of a man well known as the largest officer
in the British army; with one stride he was beside the chair of the
Frenchman, and with the speed of lightening he seized his nose by one
hand, while with the other he grasped his lower jaw, and, wrenching open
his mouth with the strength of an ogre, he spat down his throat.

So sudden was the movement, that before ten seconds had elapsed, all was
over, and the Frenchman rushed from the room, holding the fragments of