His whip cracked suddenly, and the lash leapt serpentlike into the air, to descend and coil itself about La Boulaye's head and face.
A cry broke from the young man, as much of pain as of surprise, and as the lash was drawn back, he clapped his hands to his seared face.
But again he felt it, cutting him now across the hand with which he had masked himself. With a maddened roar he sprang upon his aggressor. In height he was the equal of the Marquis, but in weight he seemed to be scarce more than the half of his opponent's. Yet a nervous strength dwelt unsuspected in those lean arms and steely wrists.
Mademoiselle stood by looking on, with parted lips and eyes that were intent and anxious. She saw that figure, spare and lithe as a greyhound, leap suddenly upon her father, and the next instant the whip was in the secretary's hands, and he sprang back from the nobleman, who stood white and quivering with rage, and perhaps, too, with some dismay.
"That I do not break it across your back, M. le Marquis, said the young man, as he snapped the whip on his knee, "you may thank your years." With that he flung the two pieces wide into the sunlit waters of the brook. "But I will have satisfaction, Monsieur. I will take payment for this." And he pointed to the weal that disfigured his face.
"Satisfaction?" roared the Marquis, hoarse in his passion. "Would you demand satisfaction of me, animal?"
"No," answered the young man, with a wry smile. "Your years again protect you. But you have a son, and if by to-morrow it should come to pass that you have a son no more, you may account yourself, through this" - and again he pointed to the weal - "his murderer."
"Do you mean that you would seek to cross swords with the Vicomte?" gasped the nobleman, in an unbelief so great that it gained the ascendency over his anger.
"That is what I mean, Monsieur. In practice he has often done so.
He shall do so for once in actual earnest."
"Fool!" was the contemptuous answer, more coldly delivered now, for the Marquis was getting himself in hand. "If you come near Bellecour again, if you are so much as found within the grounds of the park, I'll have you beaten to death by my grooms for your presumption.
Keep you the memory of that promise in mind, Sir Secretary, and let it warn you to avoid Bellecour, as you would a plague-house. Come, Suzanne," he said, turning abruptly to his daughter, "Enough of this delightful morning have we already wasted on this canaille."
With that he offered her his wrist, and so, without so much as another glance at La Boulaye, she took her departure.
The secretary remained where they had left him, pale of face - saving the fortuitous crimson mark which the whip had cut - and very sick at heart. The heat of the moment being spent, he had leisure to contemplate his plight. A scorned lover, a beaten man, a dismissed secretary! He looked sorrowfully upon his volume of "The Discourses," and for the first time a doubt crossed his mind touching the wisdom of old Jean Jacques. Was there would there ever be any remedy for such a condition of things as now prevailed?
Already the trees had hidden the Marquis and his daughter from La Boulaye's sight. The young revolutionist felt weary and lonely - dear God, how lonely! neither kith nor kin had he, and of late all the interest of his life - saving always that absorbed by Jean Jacques - had lain in watching Suzanne de Bellecour, and in loving her silently and distantly. Now that little crumb of comfort was to be his no more, he was to go away from Bellecour, away from the sight of her for all time. And he loved her, loved her, loved her!
He tossed his arms to Heaven with a great sigh that was a sob almost, then he passed his hands over his face, and as they came in contact with the swollen ridge that scored it, love faded from his mind, and vindictiveness came to fill its room.
"But for this," he cried aloud. "I shall take payment - aye, as there is a God!"
Then turning, and with "The Discourses " held tightly to his side, he moved slowly away, following the course of the gleaming waters.