At last, unable to endure the scene any longer,
he drew a hundred-franc bank-note from his pocketbook, crumpled it
in his hand and threw it at Chupin, saying: "That's a very pretty
story you are telling, my boy; but we've had enough of it. Take
your pay and leave us."
Unfortunately, the note struck Chupin full in the face. He
uttered a hoarse cry of rage, and, by the way in which he seized
and brandished an empty bottle, it might have been imagined that
M. de Coralth was about to have his head broken. But no. Thanks
to a supreme effort of will, Chupin conquered this mad fury; and,
dropping the bottle, he remarked to the young women who were
uttering panic-stricken shrieks: "Be quiet; don't you see that I
was only in fun."
But even M. Wilkie had found the fun a little rough, and even
dangerous. Several of the young fellows present sprang up, with
the evident intention of pushing Chupin out of the room, but he
checked them with a gesture. "Don't disturb yourselves,
gentlemen," he said. "I'm going, only let me find the bank-note
which this gentleman threw at me."
"That's quite proper," replied M. Wilkie, approvingly; "look for
it."
Chupin did so, and at last found it lying almost under the piano.
"Now," he remarked, "I should like a cigar."
A score or so were lying in a dish. He gravely selected one of
them and coolly cut off the end of it before placing it in his
mouth. Those around watched him with an air of profound
astonishment, not understanding this ironical calmness following
so closely upon such a storm of passion.
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