The reflective delay.

The reflective delay. 
The reflective delay. 
When the viscount had returned to his apartment, he paced the floor for several minutes with great, quick strides. He was too much agitated to reflect. A single thought hovered over his mind—' a duel'—without arousing any emotion whatsoever. . . . Then he sat down and began to consider. He must find seconds in the morning. Whom should he choose? . . He discovered that he was thirsty, and he drank three glasses of water in rapid succession. Then he resumed his pacing of the floor. He felt full of energy. If he blustered a little, seemed determined to carry the thing through, demanded rigorous and dangerous conditions, insisted upon a serious duel, very serious and terrible, his adversary would probably back down and apologize. 
He picked up the card. . . . `Georges Lamil, 51 Rue Moncey. ' Nothing more. He examined these assembled letters, which seemed to him mysterious, full of vague meaning. Georges Lamil! Who was this man? What was his business? Why had he stared at the lady in such a way? . . . There arose within him a fierce anger against that bit of paper—a malevolent sort of rage blended with a strange feeling of discomfort. What a stupid business! He took a penknife that lay open to his hand and stuck it through the middle of the printed name, as if he were stabbing someone.