her drop, Jacques," said Madame, sternly. "You have had too
much already."

Poor Monsieur Robineau, who had put out his glass to be refilled, paused
and looked helplessly at his wife.

"_Mon cher ange_,...." he began; but she shook her head inflexibly, and
Monsieur Robineau submitted with the air of a man who knows that from
the sentence of the supreme court there is no appeal.

"_Dame_!" whispered Madame Roquet, with a confidential attack upon my
ribs that gave me a pain in my side for half an hour after, "my brother
has the heart of a rabbit. He gives way to her in everything--so much
the worse for him. My blessed man, who was a saint of a husband, would
have broken the bowl over my ears if I had dared to interfere between
his glass and his mouth!"

Whereupon Madame Roquet filled her own glass and mine, and Madame
Robineau, less indulgent to her husband than herself, followed
our example.

Just at this moment, a confused hubbub of voices, and other sounds
expressive of a _fracas_, broke out in the direction of the trees behind
the orchestra. The dancers deserted their polka, the musicians stopped
fiddling, the noisy supper-party in the next arbor abandoned their cold
chicken and salad, and everybody ran to the scene of action. Dalrymple
was on his feet in a moment; but Suzette held Andre back with both hands
and implored him to stay.

"Some _mauvais sujets_, no doubt, who refuse to pay the score,"
suggested Madame Roquet.

"Or Sullivan, who has got into one of his infernal scrapes," muttered
Dalrymple, with a determined wrench at his moustache. "Come on, anyhow,
and let us see what is the matter!"

So we snatched up our hats and ran out, just as Monsieur Robineau seized
the opportunity to drink another tumbler of punch when his wife was
not looking.

Following in the direction of the rest, we took one of the paths behind
the orchestra, and came upon a noisy crowd gathered round a wooden
summer-house.

"It's a fight," said one.

"It's a pickpocket," said another.

"Bah! it's only a young fellow who has been making love to a girl,"
exclaimed a third.

We forced our way through, and there we saw Mr. Frank Sullivan with his
hat off, his arms crossed, and his back against the wall, presenting a
dauntless front to the gesticulations and threats of an exceedingly
enraged young man with red hair, who was abusing him furiously. The
amount of temper displayed by this young man was something unparalleled.
He w