Here was a man upon whom to wreak his wrath, disappointment and despair.

Justice or injustice, neither balanced on the scales of his wrath.

He crossed over to the chimney, stood with his back to the fire and waited.
The vicomte approached within a yard, stopped; twisted his mustache, resting his left hand on his hip.

His discerning inspection was soon completed.

He was fully aware of the desperate and reckless light in the poet's eyes.
"Monsieur de Saumaise, you have this night offered me four distinct affronts.