ore making her his wife. He felt
for her now nothing but a deal of pity and some contempt. The pity was
begotten of the love she had lately inspired in him. It might be likened
to the dregs of love, all that remained after the potent wine of it had
been drained off. His anger he reserved for her father and her seducer.

The thoughts that were stirring in him on that Monday morning, when it
was discovered that Climene had not yet returned from her excursion
of the previous day in the coach of M. le Marquis, were already wicked
enough without the spurring they received from the distraught Leandre.

Hitherto the attitude of each of these men towards the other had been
one of mutual contempt. The phenomenon has frequently been observed in
like cases. Now, what appeared to be a common misfortune brought them
into a sort of alliance. So, at least, it seemed to Leandre when he went
in quest of Andre-Louis, who with apparent unconcern was smoking a pipe
upon the quay immediately facing the inn.

"Name of a pig!" said Leandre. "How can you take your ease and smoke at
such a time?"

Scaramouche surveyed the sky. "I do not find it too cold," said he. "The
sun is shining. I am very well here."

"Do I talk of the weather?" Leandre was very excited.

"Of what, then?"

"Of Climene, of course."

"Oh! The lady has ceased to interest me," he lied.

Leandre stood squarely in front of him, a handsome figure handsomely
dressed in these days, his hair well powdered, his stockings of silk.
His face was pale, his large eyes looked larger than usual.

"Ceased to interest you? Are you not to marry her?"

Andre-Louis expelled a cloud of smoke. "You cannot wish to be offensive.
Yet you almost suggest that I live on other men's leavings."

"My God!" said Leandre, overcome, and he stared awhile. Then he burst
out afresh. "Are you quite heartless? Are you always Scaramouche?"

"What do you expect me to do?" asked Andre-Louis, evincing surprise in
his own turn, but faintly.

"I do not expect you to let her go without a struggle."

"But she has gone already." Andre-Louis pulled at his pipe a moment,
what time Leandre clenched and unclenched his hands in impotent rage.
"And to what purpose struggle against the inevitable? Did you struggle
when I took her from you?"

"She was not mine to be taken from me. I but aspired, and you won the
race. But even had it been otherwise where is the comparison? That was a
thing in honour; this--this