Svengali had not reckoned on Taffy's being there; he recognized him at once, and turned white.
Taffy, who had dog-skin gloves on, put out his right hand, and deftly seized Svengali's nose between his fore and middle fingers and nearly pulled it off, and swung his head two or three times backward and forward by it, and then from side to side, Svengali holding on to his wrist; and then, letting him go, gave him a sounding open-handed smack on his right cheek—and a smack on the face from Taffy (even in play) was no joke, I'm told; it made one smell brimstone, and see and hear things that didn't exist.
Svengali gasped worse than Little Billee, and couldn't speak for a while. Then he said,
"Lâche—grand lâche! che fous enferrai mes témoins!"
"At your orders!" said Taffy, in beautiful French,
