age to the young ladies by languidly letting fly, from the tips of their gloved fingers, one pepernote at a time. Among these handsome gentlemen were the two Saint-Fardiers, von Frans, the dapper captain of the civic horse-guards, Ditmayr, the rich woollen-merchant, and a swarthy, exotic-looking man, wearing a red tie and dogskin gloves, whom Laurent saw for the first time.
Irritated by the phlegm and the blase air of Madame Béjard as much as by the ostentation and delicate airs of the fops, he resolved not to spare her, even promised himself to lose his patience, to pelt her, to force her to withdraw from the scene. Rummaging in his deep pockets, he set himself to hurl handfulls of pepernotes at the impassive beauty. It was a continual volley of shrapnel. The projectiles, thrown with increasing force, were always aimed at Madame Béjard and especially at her face.
After a furtive examination of the dishevelled Pierrot, she affected to pay no more attention to him for a long while. Then, in the face of the impetuosity and the tenacity of his aggression, she let fall, at two or three repetitions, a disdainful look upon the fellow, and proceeded to chatter away to her companions in the most detached manner.
This air only enraged Laurent. He no longer observed the slightest restraint. She would notice him, or leave her place. At present he was throwing like a madman.
He was looked at askance from the beginning by the fashionable clique to whom he was lending such furious reinforcement, and the gentlemen, having become more and more annoyed by the reveller, left the game, repudiating and disavowing so ragged a partner.
