Victor Chupin must have become very sensitive since his conversion. In former times he was not wont to be so susceptible as to lose his temper when some one chanced to address him in a rather peremptory manner, or to offer him wine out of the first available glass. But M. de Coralth inspired him with one of those inexplicable aversions which cannot be restrained “Eh! tell me if it’s because we’ve drank champagne together before that you talk to me like that?” the young fellow retorted, savagely. It was only a random shot, but it reached home. The viscount seemed touched to the quick. “You hear that, Wilkie,” said he. “This will teach you that the time of your compatriot, Lord Seymour, has passed by. The good-humored race of plebeians who respectfully submitted to the blows with which noblemen honored them after drinking, has died out. This ought to cure you of your unfortunate habit of placing yourself on terms of equality with all the vagabonds you meet.” Chupin’s hair fairly bristled with anger. “What! what!” he exclaimed; “I’ll teach you to call me a vagabond, you scoundrel!” His gesture, his attitude, and his eyes were so expressive of defiance and menace that two of the guests sprang up and caught him by the arm. “Go, go,” they said. But he freed himself from their grasp. “Go!” he replied. “Never! He called me a vagabond. Am I to pocket the insult quietly and walk off with it? You can scarcely expect that. First, I demand an apology.” This was asking too much of the Viscount de Coralth. “Let the fool alone,” he remarked, with affected coolness, “and ring for the waiters to kick him out.” It did not require this new insult to put Chupin in a furious passion. “Come on!” he exclaimed. “Ah, ha! Where’s the fellow who’ll turn me out? Let him come. I’ll teach him a lesson!” And as he spoke he squared his shoulders, inflated his chest, and threw the weight of his entire body on his left leg, after the most approved method of sparring-masters. “Go, go!” insisted Wilkie’s friends. “Yes, I’ll go with pleasure, but your friend must go, too. Is he a man? Then let him come, and we’ll settle this outside.” And seeing that they were again trying to seize him: “Hands off!” he thundered, “or I’ll strike. You were not obliged to invite me here. It isn’t my business to furnish amusement to parties who’ve drunk too much wine. And why should you despise me? It’s true I haven’t any money while you have plenty--that I work and you carouse. Still that’s no reason why you should scorn me. Besides, those who are poor in the morning are sometimes rich in the evening. Every dog has his day. I have an idea that I shall have some coin when yours is all gone. Then it will be my turn to laugh; and as I’m a good-natured fellow, I will give you my half-smoked cigars.”