Somewhere in the dusk, somebody laughed lightly.

Robert's face blazed, but he was still master of himself.
"And so you would leave after speaking to me in a manner that is an insult," sneered Boucher.
"You were the first to give an insult." "If you think so I am ready to return satisfaction." Boucher folded his arms across his chest, his powerful wrists crossed, and stared at Robert, his lips wrinkling in ugly fashion.

It was a look like that which Tandakora had given him, and there in the background was the huge and sinister figure of the Indian, wrapped in his blanket of flame.

He also saw de Mezy and he too was sneering in insolent triumph.
De Courcelles, from whom he had a right at that time to expect friendship, or at least support, had drawn farther away.
"I am a guest here," said Robert, "and I seek no trouble.

I don't wish to mar the hospitality of Monsieur Bigot by being a party to a quarrel in his garden." Again that light laugh came from a point somewhere in the dusk and again Robert's face blazed, but he still held himself under firm control.
"You were ready enough to fight Count Jean de Mezy this morning," said Boucher, "knowing that he was not in condition and that you had a skill with the sword not suspected by him." The truth of it all flashed upon Robert with the certainty of conviction.