Oliva ran to meet a man, who came in swearing furiously, and in a frightful¹ passion.  
“Come, Beausire,” said she, apparently² not at all frightened.
 
“Let me alone!” cried he, shaking her off brutally³. “Ah! I see, it was because there is a man here that the door was not opened!” And as the visitor remained perfectly⁴ still, he advanced furiously towards him, saying, “Will you answer me, sir?”
 
“What do you want to know, my dear M. Beausire?”
 
“What are you doing here, and who are you?”
 
“I am a very quiet man, and I was simply talking to madame.”
 
“That was all,” said Oliva.
 
“Will you hold your tongue?” bawled⁵ Beausire.
 
“Now,” said the visitor, “do not be so rude to madame, who has done nothing to deserve it; and if you are in a bad temper——”
 
“Yes, I am.”
 
“He must have lost at cards,” murmured Oliva.
 
“I am cleaned out, mort de diable!” cried Beausire. “But you, sir, will do me the favor to leave this room.”
 
“But, M. Beausire——”
 
“Diable! if you do not go immediately it will be the worse for you.”
 
“You did not tell me, mademoiselle, that he was troubled with these fits. Good heavens! what ferocity!”
 
Beausire, exasperated⁶, drew his sword, and roared, “If you do not move, I will pin you to the sofa!”
 
“Really, it is impossible to be more disagreeable,” said the visitor, also drawing a small sword, which they had not before seen.
 
Oliva uttered piercing shrieks⁷.
 
“Oh, mademoiselle, pray be quiet,” said he, “or two things will happen: first, you will stun⁸ M. Beausire, and he will get killed; secondly⁹, the watch will come up and carry you straight off to St. Lazare.”
 
Oliva ceased her cries.
 
The scene that ensued was curious. Beausire, furious with rage, was making wild and unskilful passes at his adversary¹¹, who, still seated on the sofa, parried them with the utmost ease, laughing immoderately all the time.
 
Beausire began to grow tired and also frightened, for he felt that if this man, who was now content to stand on the defensive

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