“I did not think I was doing wrong,” he muttered. “Favoral was my
friend.”
“And that’s the reason why you were coming to propose to Mlle.
Favoral to become your mistress? There she is, you thought, without
resources, literally without bread, without relatives, without
friends to protect her: this is the time to come forward. And
thinking you could be cowardly, vile, and infamous with impunity,
you came.”
To be thus treated, he, the successful man, in presence of this
young girl, whom, a moment before, he was crushing with his impudent
opulence, no, M. Costeclar could not stand it. Losing completely
his head,
“You should have let me know, then,” he exclaimed, “that she was
your mistress.”
Something like a flame passed over M. de Tregars’ face. His eyes
flashed. Rising in all the height of his wrath, which broke out
terrible at last,
“Ah, you scoundrel!” he exclaimed.