"
"And why, if you please?" La Tour d'Azyr's face had flamed scarlet
before that sneer.
"Oh," Andre-Louis raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, a man
considering. He delivered himself slowly. "Because, monsieur, you
prefer the easy victim - the Lagrons and Vilmorins of this world,
mere sheep for your butchering. That is why."
And then the Marquis struck him.
Andre-Louis stepped back. His eyes gleamed a moment; the next they
were smiling up into the face of his tall enemy.
"No better than the others, after all! Well, well! Remark, I beg
you, how history repeats itself - with certain differences. Because
poor Vilmorin could not bear a vile lie with which you goaded him,
he struck you. Because you cannot bear an equally vile truth which
I have uttered, you strike me. But always is the vileness yours.
And now as then for the striker there is... " He broke off. "But
why name it? You will remember what there is. Yourself you wrote
it that day with the point of your too-ready sword. But there.
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