"I do not like his looks," he objected.

"He may be the friend of your bosom, Marius; you may have no secrets from him; but for my part, frankly, I should prefer the presence of some friend of my own to keep his blade engaged." The Marquis's manner was affable in the extreme.

Now that it was settled that they must fight, he appeared to have cast aside all scruples based upon their consanguinity, and he discussed the affair with the greatest bonhomie, as though he were disposing of a matter of how they should sit down to table.
It gave them pause.

The change was too abrupt.

They did not like it.
It was as the calm that screens some surprise.