went in quest of André-Louis, who with apparent unconcern was smoking a pipe upon the quay immediately facing the inn.
"Name of a pig!" said Léandre. "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?" Léandre was very excited.
"Of what, then?"
"Of Climène, of course."
"Oh! The lady has ceased to interest me," he lied.
Léandre 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?"
André-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 Léandre, 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 André-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." André-Louis pulled at his pipe a moment, what time Léandre 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 is hell."
His emotion moved André-Louis. He took Léandre's arm. "You're a good fellow, Léandre. I am glad I intervened to save you from your fate."
