enoit. Inflamed with drink as they were, the two men were bound to come
to blows before long, and a dull murmur ran through the room heralding
the approaching altercation. Berthe, anxious on her brother's behalf,
and a little frightened on her own, did all she could to induce
Geoffroy to come away, but even though she promised to pay for any
number of drinks elsewhere, he refused to budge from the bench where he
was sitting hunched up in a corner.

* * * * *

When at length he got rid of Bouzille and his exasperating garrulity,
the green man resumed his conversation with his friend with the guitar.

"It's rather odd that he hasn't a trace of accent," the latter remarked.

"Oh, it's nothing for a fellow like Gurn to speak French like a
Frenchman," said the green man in a low tone; then he stopped nervously.
Ernestine was walking about among the company, chatting to one and
another and getting drinks, and he fancied that she was listening to
what he said.

But another duologue rose audible in another part of the room.

"If the gentleman would like to show his strength there's someone ready
to take him on."

Hogshead Geoffroy had thrown down his glove!

Silence fell upon the room. It was Mealy Benoit's turn to answer. At
that precise moment, however, Benoit was draining the salad bowl. He
slowly swallowed the last of the red liquid--one can't do two things at
once--laid the bowl down, empty, on the table, and in thundering,
dignified tones demanded another, wiped his lips on the back of his
sleeve, and turned his huge head towards the corner where Geoffroy was
hunched up, saying, "Will the gentleman kindly repeat his last remark?"

* * * * *

Ernestine moved furtively to Julot's side, and affecting to be
interested only in the argument going on between Geoffroy and Benoit,
said without looking at him:

"The pale man, with the greenish complexion, said to the man with the
guitar, 'It's he, all right, because of the burn in the palm of his
hand.'"

Julot choked back an oath, and instinctively clenched his fist, but
Ernestine already had moved on and was huskily chaffing the young man
with the budding beard. Julot sat with sombre face and angry eyes, only
replying in curt monosyllables to the occasional remarks of his next
neighbour, Billy Tom. Marie, the waitress, was passing near him and he
signed to her to stop.

"Say, Marie," he said, nodding to