Chapter 207

194 MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE Duke Di Broglio. I had indulged more freely than usual in the excesses of the wine-table, and now the suffocating atmosphere of the crowded rooms irritated me beyond endurance. The difficulty, too, of forcing my way through the mazes of the company contributed not a little to the ruffling of my temper; for I was anxiously seeking (let me not say with what unworthy motive) the young, the gay, the beautiful wife of the aged and doting Di Broglio. With a too unscrupulous confidence she had previously communicated to me the secret of the costume in which she would be habited, and now, having caught a glimpse of her person, I was hurrying to make my way into her presence. At this moment I felt a light hand placed upon my shoulder, and that ever-remembered, low, damnable whisper within my ear. In an absolute frenzy of wrath I turned at once upon him who had thus interrupted me, and seized him violently by the collar. He was attired, as I had expected, in a costume altogether similar to my own; wearing a Spanish cloak of blue velvet, begirt about the waist with a crimson belt sustaining a rapier. A mask of black silk entirely covered his face. “Scoundrel ! ” I said, in a voice husky with rage, while every syllable I uttered seemed as new fuel to my fury — “scoundrel ! imposter ! accursed villain ! you shall not — you shall not dog me unto death! Follow me, or I stab you where you stand !” — and I broke my way from the ballroom into a small antechamber adjoining, dragging him unresistingly with me as I went. Upon entering, I thrust him furiously from me. He staggered against the wall, while I closed the door with an oath, and commanded him to draw. He hesitated but for an instant; then with a slight sigh, drew in silence, and put himself upon his defense. The contest was brief indeed. I was frantic with every species of wild excitement, and felt within my