Linton trembled from head to foot, and, casting a wary look around on every side to see that they were alone, he said, “These words may mean much, or they may mean nothing,--at least nothing that has concern for me. Now, sir, be explicit; in what sense am I to read them?” The Duke looked astonished at the emotion which all the other's self-command could not repress; he saw, too, that he had touched a secret spring of conscience, and with a calm reserve he said, “Take what I have said in the sense your own heart now suggests, and I venture to affirm it will be the least pleasing interpretation you can put upon it!” “You shall give me satisfaction for this, sir,” said Linton, whose passion now boiled over. “I will not endure the tyranny of insinuations from any man. Here, before you quit the house,--if ever you quit it,--I will have full satisfaction for your insolence.” “Insolence!” cried the Duke. “Yes, insolence. I repeat the word, and these gentlemen shall hear a still stronger word addressed to you, if that will not suffice to arouse your courage.” This speech was now directed to the crowd of gamblers, who, suddenly awakened by the loud talking, rushed in a body into the room. Questions, and demands for explanation, pressed on every hand, their countrymen gathering round the antagonists on either side, both of whom maintained for some minutes a perfect silence. The Duke was the first to speak. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you have heard an expression addressed to me which no Frenchman listens to without inflicting chastisement on the speaker--I do not ask--I do not care in the least--who this person may be--what his rank and position in life; I am ready to admit him to the fullest equality with myself. It only remains that I should satisfy myself of certain doubts, which his own manner has originated. It may be that he cannot call me, or any other gentleman, to account for his words.” Linton's face twitched with short convulsive jerks as he listened, and then, crossing the room to where the Duke stood, he struck him with his glove across the face, while, with a very shout of passion, he uttered the one word, “Coward!” The scene became now one of the wildest confusion. The partisanship of country surrounded either with a group, who in loud tones expressed their opinions, and asked for explanations of what had occurred. That some gross insult had been put upon Linton was the prevailing impression; but how originating, or of what nature, none knew, nor did the principals seem disposed to afford the information. “I tell you, Frobisher,” said Linton, angrily, “it is a matter does not admit of explanation.” “_Parbleu_, sir! you have placed it out of the reach of such,” said an old French officer, “and I trust you will feel the consequences.”