In society he was called “Handsome Signoles.”
His name was Vicomte Gontran-Joseph de Signoles.
An orphan, and possessed of an ample fortune, he cut
quite a dash, as it is called. He had an attractive
appearance and manner, could talk well, had a certain
inborn elegance, an air of pride and nobility, a good
mustache, and a tender eye, that always finds favor
with women.
He was in great request at receptions, waltzed to
perfection, and was regarded by his own sex with that
smiling hostility accorded to the popular society
man. He had been suspected of more than one love
affair, calculated to enhance the reputation of a
bachelor. He lived a happy, peaceful life—a
life of physical and mental well-being. He had
won considerable fame as a swordsman, and still more
as a marksman.
“When the time comes for me to fight a duel,”
he said, “I shall choose pistols. With
such a weapon I am sure to kill my man.”
One evening, having accompanied two women friends
of his with their husbands to the theatre, he invited
them to take some ice cream at Tortoni’s after
the performance. They had been seated a few minutes
in the restaurant when Signoles noticed that a man
was staring persistently at one of the ladies.
She seemed annoyed, and lowered her eyes. At last
she said to her husband:
“There’s a man over there looking at me.
I don’t know him; do you?”
The husband, who had noticed nothing, glanced across
at the offender, and said:
“No; not in the least.”
His wife continued, half smiling, half angry:
“It’s very tiresome! He quite spoils
my ice cream.”
The husband shrugged his shoulders.
“Nonsense! Don’t take any notice
of him. If we were to bother our heads about
all the ill-mannered people we should have no time
for anything else.”
But the vicomte abruptly left his seat. He could
not allow this insolent fellow to spoil an ice for
a guest of his. It was for him to take cognizance
of the offence, since it was through him that his friends
had come to the restaurant. He went across to
the man and said:
“Sir, you are staring at those ladies in a manner
I cannot permit. I must ask you to desist from
your rudeness.”
The other replied:
“Let me alone, will you!”
“Take care, sir,” said the vicomte between
his teeth, “or you will force me to extreme
measures.”
The man replied with a single word—a foul
word, which could be heard from one end of the restaurant
to the other, and which startled every one there.
All those whose backs were toward the two disputants
turned round; all the others raised their heads; three
waiters spun round on their heels like tops; the two
lady cashiers jumped, as if shot, then turned their
bodies simultaneously, like two automata worked by
the same spring.
