Now, one evening, having escorted two young women, friends of his, to the theater, being also accompanied by their husbands, he offered them, after the play, an ice at Tortoni's. They had been there about ten minutes, when he perceived that a gentleman, seated at a neighboring table, gazed persistently at one of the ladies of his party. She seemed troubled and disturbed, lowering her eyes. Finally, she said to her husband: “That man is staring me out of countenance. I do not know him; do you?” The husband, who had seen nothing, raised his eyes but declared: “No, not at all.” The young woman replied, half laughing, half angry: “It is very annoying; that individual is spoiling my ice.” The husband shrugged his shoulders, replying: “Pshaw! Pay no attention to him. If we were to notice all the insolent people we meet, there would be no end to it.” But the Viscount arose brusquely. He could not allow this unknown man to spoil an ice he had offered. It was to him that the injury was addressed, as it was through him and for him that his friends had entered this _café_. The affair, then, concerned him only. He advanced toward the man and said to him: “You have, sir, a manner of looking at these ladies that is not to be tolerated. I beg to ask you to cease this attention.” The other replied: “So you command me to keep the peace, do you?” With set teeth, the Viscount answered: “Take care, sir, or you will force me to forget myself!” The gentleman replied with a single word, an obscene word which resounded from one end of the _café_ to the other, and made each guest start with a sudden movement as if they were all on springs. Those that were in front turned around; all the others raised their heads; three waiters turned about on their heels as if on pivots; the two ladies at the counter bounded forward, then entirely turned their backs upon the scene, as if they had been two automatons obeying the same manipulation. There was a great silence. Then, suddenly, a sharp noise rent the air. The Viscount had struck his adversary. Everybody got up to interpose. Cards were exchanged. After the Viscount had returned home, he walked up and down his room at a lively pace for some minutes. He was too much agitated to reflect upon anything. One idea only hovered over his mind: “a duel”; and yet this idea awoke in him as yet, no emotion whatever. He had done what he ought to do; he had shown himself what he ought to be. People would talk of it, approve of it, and congratulate him. He said aloud, in a high voice, as one speaks when he is much troubled in thought: “What a beast that man is.”