And taking my knee from his breast, and releasing his arms, I stood a little on one side. “Ah, wretch!” cried he regaining his whip. “Do you know what is the penalty for laying hands on a gentleman?” “M. le Viscount!” cried Sophie, pale with terror, placing herself, at the same time, between us. He smiled a grim smile, grinding his teeth as he did so. “I am determined, mademoiselle. Had he been a gentleman, I would chastise him with a sword; but as he is not, I shall punish him with this whip.” He raised it. I looked for something with which to defend myself. At that moment, a man sprang over one of the tables, seized the Marquis with one hand, and possessed himself of the whip with the other. “Monsieur,” said he, “whips were made for horses and dogs. Réné Besson is a man.” “A man?” repeated the Viscount, furiously. “Yes, a man; and one whom you may not insult.” “Who are you?” asked the Viscount. “You know me very well, M. de Malmy; but as you ask, I will tell you. I am Jean Baptiste Drouet, postmaster at St. Menehould. I am not of noble birth, I know full well; but for six years have I served my country as a soldier, and that is better than a gentleman who spends his life in eating, drinking, and hunting. This I say for the benefit of you and your friends, and if you want me, you know where to find me.” Saying these words, Drouet pushed De Malmy aside, and turned to confront two or three other young gentlemen, who, having dismounted, had come to join in the quarrel. “When we change horses at your post-house, M. Drouet,” said one of these young men, “we do not generally approach, but send our domestics to bear our orders to you.” “I would much rather deal with your servants than with you, M. de Courtement. They, at least, have not sold their wives or daughters in the Parc au Cerfs.” The young noble took this as a sarcasm on his birth, with regard to which infamous reports had been bruited about. He had a hunting-knife in his belt, and suddenly drew it, maddened with anger. But before the knife could do any mischief, Drouet drew a pistol from his pocket, and presented it full in the face of the Chevalier. “Monsieur,” said he, “I could shoot you like I would a wild beast; and two hundred people would bear witness that you offered the first insult; but the time has not yet come when all shall have their dues. So go your way in peace, and let the matter stand as it is.” “Oh, without doubt, that proceeding would suit you wonderfully well,” said M. de Malmy; “but, for the sake of an example, I must proceed otherwise.” Raising his whip, he advanced on M. Drouet, who, making a spring to one side, jumped on a table, and cried out, in a powerful tone of voice, “Help! To my assistance, men of St. Menehould!” A hundred voices responded to the cry; a crowd rushed to where we were; and in a moment, the five or six gentlemen were completely in our power.