d simply disgusting."

"Bah!" the other retorted; "it comes to the same thing. I should have
thought Lady Caroline Mannering might have taught you to be less
critical."

The Cuirassier rose from his seat and strode a pace forward, the gray
hair bristling round his savage face like a wild-boar's at bay.

"If you dare to breathe that name again, except with respect and honor,
I'll cram the words down your throat, by the eternal God!"

Levinge crimsoned with passion. The brutal blood of the dead
prize-fighter, who, when he "crossed" a fight, lost it ever by a foul
blow, was boiling in his descendant. He had been drinking too, and, as
the French say--_avait le vin mauvais_--so he answered coolly and
slowly, letting the syllables fall one by one, like drops of hail,

"I shall mention it just as often as it pleases me, and with just so
much respect as is due to Mannering's cast-off wife and your--"

The foul word that was on his lips never left them, for Mohun's threat
was literally fulfilled. His right hand shot out from the shoulder with
a sudden impulse that seemed rather mechanical than an action of the
will, and, catching the speaker full in the mouth, laid him on the
carpet senseless and streaming with blood.

CHAPTER XXIV.

"Look doun, look doun now, ladye fair,
On him ye lo'ed sae weel;
A brawer man than yon blue corse
Never drew sword of steel."

The dead silence that ensued was broken first by Guy Livingstone. "It
was well done! I say it and maintain it; Mohun, I envy you that blow!"
He looked round as if to challenge contradiction; but evidently the
general opinion was that Levinge had only got his deserts. By this time
the fallen man had recovered his consciousness, and struggled up, first
into a sitting posture, then to his feet; he stood leaning against a
table, swaying to and fro, and staring about him with wild eyes half
glazed. At last he spoke in a thick, faint voice, stanching all the
while the gushing blood with his handkerchief.

"Will any one here be my second, or must I look for a friend elsewhere?"

There was a pause, and then from the circle stepped forth Camille de
Rosny. He did not like Levinge, and thought in the present instance he
had behaved infamously, but it was the fashion hereditary in his gallant
house to back the losing side; so, when he saw every one else shrink
from the appeal, he bowed gravely and said,

"I shall have that honor, if you wil