But Garnache's rash temper, rising anew, tore that last flimsy chance to shreds.
The insult that mademoiselle might overlook might even not have fully understood--set him afire with indignation for her sake.

He forgot his role, forgot even that he had no French.
"Mademoiselle," he cried, and she gasped in her affright at this ruinous indiscretion, "I beg that you will stand aside." His voice was low and threatening, but his words were woefully distinct.
"Par la mort Dieu!" swore Marius, taken utterly aback.

"What may your name be--you who hitherto have had no French ?" Almost thrusting mademoiselle aside, Garnache stood out to face him, the flush of hot anger showing through the dye on his cheeks.
"My name," said he, "is Martin Marie Rigobert de Garnache, and my business now to make an end of one at least of this obscene brood of Condillac." And, without more ado, he caught up a chair and held it before him in readiness to receive the other's onslaught.
But Marius hung back an instant--at first in sheer surprise, later in fear.

He had some knowledge of the fellow's methods.

Even the sword he wielded gave him little confidence opposed to Garnache with a chair.