He saw the two indifferent gentlemen deep in talk, and passed them over: his fancy flying not so high.

There was but one other present, a country lout who stood swallowing his wine, equally unobserved by all and unobserving--to him he dealt a glance of murderous suspicion, and turned direct upon his wife.

The wine-shop had lain hitherto, a space of shelter, the scene of a few ceremonial passages and some whispered conversation, in the howling river of the wind; the clock had not yet ticked a score of times since Paradou's appearance; and now, as he suddenly gave tongue, it seemed as though the mistral had entered at his heels.
'What ails you, woman ?' he cried, smiting on the counter.
'Nothing ails me,' she replied.

It was strange; but she spoke and stood at that moment like a lady of degree, drawn upward by her aspirations.
'You speak to me, by God, as though you scorned me!' cried the husband.
The man's passion was always formidable; she had often looked on upon its violence with a thrill, it had been one ingredient in her fascination; and she was now surprised to behold him, as from afar off, gesticulating but impotent.

His fury might be dangerous like a torrent or a gust of wind, but it was inhuman; it might be feared or braved, it should never be respected.