"Oh! oh! It was her son that called her that----"
said Chupin to himself, quite horrified. And without more ado,
he hastened after the young man.
He was between two and four-and-twenty years of age, rather above
the medium height, with very light hair and an extremely pale
complexion. His slight mustache would have been almost
imperceptible if it had not been dyed several shades darker than
his hair. He was attired with that studied carelessness which
many consider to be the height of elegance, but which is just the
reverse. And his bearing, his mustache, and his low hat, tipped
rakishly over one ear, gave him an arrogant, pretentious, rowdyish
appearance. "Zounds! that fellow doesn't suit my fancy," growled
Chupin, as he trotted along. For he was almost running in his
efforts to keep pace with Madame d'Argeles's insulter. The
latter's haste was soon explained. He was carrying a letter which
he wished to have delivered, and no doubt he feared he would not
be able to find a commissionaire. Having discovered one at last,
he called him, gave him the missive, and then pursued his way more
leisurely.
He had reached the boulevard, when a florid-faced youth,
remarkably short and stout, rushed toward him with both hands
amicably extended, at the same time crying, loud enough to attract
the attention of the passers-by: "Is it possible that this is my
dear Wilkie?"
"Yes--alive and in the flesh," replied the young man.
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