“Do you want me to bring him face to face with you?” cried Savinien, cutting him short. “Believe me, do not spread the matter; it lies between you, Goupil and myself; leave it as it is and God shall decide it in the duel that I shall do your son the honor to propose.”
“But it shall not be settled in this way!” cried Zélie. “Ah! you think I am going to let Désiré fight with you, an old sailor whose trade was to draw swords and pistols! If you have anything against Minoret, here is Minoret, take Minoret and fight with Minoret! But is my boy, who, as you say, is innocent of this, to bear the penalty?—Before that happens, one of my dogs shall be after you, my fine sir! Now then, Minoret, you stick there as stupid as a great ninny! Here you are in your own house and you allow monsieur to keep on his hat before your wife! And you, my young gentleman, will kindly clear out. A man’s house is his castle. I don’t know what you mean by your nonsense; but you had better go; and, if you touch Désiré, you will have to deal with me, you and your fool of an Ursule.”
And she rang the bell violently, calling to her servants.
“Think well about what I have said!” repeated Savinien, who, unheeding Zélie’s tirade, went out, leaving this sword of Damocles hanging over the couple.
“Now then! Minoret,” said Zélie to her husband, “will you explain the meaning of this? A young
