"That's just it, M'sieu le Comte!" replied Jean Marie, obstinately ignoring Gaston and still addressing de Mortémar, "he slept all the afternoon. Now he wants some supper. He throws louis about as if they were dirt, and I can't serve him in there!" he added with unanswerable logic and pointing to the stuffy room in the rear.
"Pardi! . . ." began Mortémar.
But Gaston de Stainville was fully alert now; with sudden vigour he jumped to his feet and brought his fist crashing down on the table so that the candelabrum, the mugs, and decanters of wine shook under the blow.
"I beseech you, friend, admit the stranger into this room without delay," he said loudly. "Ma foi! you have found me dull and listless, ill-humoured in spite of your lavish hospitality; I swear to you by all the devils in hell that you'll not yawn once for the next half-hour, and that Gaston de Stainville and the mysterious stranger, who thwarts his will and forestalls his orders, will afford you a measure of amusement such as you'll never forget."
His face was flushed, and his eyes, somewhat hazy from the copiousness of his libations, had an evil leer in them and an inward glow of deadly hate. There was no longer any weakness, nor yet ill-humour, visible in his attitude. His hands were clenched, one resting on the table, the other roughly pushing back the chair on which he had been sitting.
"Admit the stranger, friend host!" he shouted savagely. "I'll vouch for it that your patron will not regret his presence in this room."
"Ma foi! I trust not," said a quiet voice, which seemed to come suddenly from out the gloom. "Gentlemen, your servant!"
Mortémar turned toward the door, whence had proceeded that gentle, courteous voice. Lord Eglinton was standing under the lintel, elegantly attired in full riding dress, with top boots and closely-fitting coat. He wore no sword, and carried a heavy cloak on his arm.
He made a comprehensive bow which included every one there present, then he stepped forward into the room.