him near one of the doors of safety only to send him reeling inside, and in so doing shattered him almost to pieces against the columns.
When, after many vicissitudes and a prolonged agony, a strong propulsion sent him flying for a twentieth time toward the entrance, a late-comer pushed open the padded door.
"Hold the door open, Béjard!" roared Saint-Fardier, senior, who had enjoyed the game as much as an Oxford lad enjoys a football match, as he mopped his face.
Expensively clad, buttoned into an overcoat of irreproachable cut, a flower in his buttonhole, haughtier, more poised and more the leader than ever, Béjard realized the situation, and, having nothing more in common with his former creature, wishing above all to show that he had utterly repudiated him, he ceremoniously did as he had been told.
Drawing himself close up to the wall, he flung the door wide to let the victim pass. His face shone with a Satanic joy. Truly, he was a pretty sight, this mean coward!
On his part, Dupoissy recognized his former associate. To be mauled about before him was the last straw, the supreme opprobrium. Frankly, he did not merit this excess of ignominy. He concentrated all that he had left of energy, fire and vital force in one look of cruel malice, a mute imprecation. A toad, crushed by a clodhopper's boot, must dart forth such a look as he gave. Béjard never flinched beneath his fluid vindictiveness. On the contrary, nothing could have flattered him more. Just as a final push was speeding Dupoissy's flight, and he swept past Deputy Béjard with the speed of a projectile, the latter made
