I followed him.
After a second turn, the street crossed another. In the middle of the
open space at the junction, there stood a cross, as could be seen by the
moonlight that now came through an interval in the procession of
wind-driven clouds.
Just as the man with the hurt arm, who was slender, and had a dandified
walk, entered this open space, a gust of wind came into it with him; and
there came, also, from the other street, a robust gentleman of medium
height, holding his head high and walking briskly. Caught by the gust of
wind, my gentleman from the second story window ran precipitantly into
the other. The robust man was not sent backward an inch. He took the
shock of meeting with the firmness of an unyielding wall, so that the
slender gentleman rebounded. Each man uttered a brief oath, and grasped
his sword, the slender one forgetting the condition of his arm.
"Oh, it is you," said the robust man, in a virile voice, of which the
tone was now purposely offensive. "The wind blows fragile articles into
one's face to-night."
"It blows gentlemen into muck-heaps," responded the other, quickly.
The hearty gentleman gave a loud laugh, meant to aggravate the other's
anger, and then said:
"We do not need seconds, M. de Quelus," putting into his utterance of the
other's name a world of insult.
"Come on, then, M. Bussy d'Amboise," replied the other, pronouncing the
name only that he might, in return, hiss out the final syllable as if it
were the word for something filthy.
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