“What is it?”
“The Black Brothers will be desperate now. They will be striking their final blows. You had better keep still, and lay low.”
“I believe the whole Anti-Dreyfus League will be hunting their holes. I do not believe the Black Brothers will have much to do but lay low.”
“That’s a queer idea.”
“See if I am not right.”
Frank was elated, and he could talk of nothing else, save the turn of the tide in favor of Dreyfus. He insisted on going out that night, and they dined in the open air, beneath the trees, Browning and Rattleton going along.
The American lads were surprised at the calmness of the people, who had seemed so wildly excited a short time before. Listening, they heard men quietly saying, one to another, that Dreyfus was coming back at last. Some of them said there would be bloodshed the hour he set his feet on French soil, but they said it quietly, as if it were useless to struggle against fate.
Several striking-looking men came and took a table near Frank and his friends. These men talked with more excitement than had any others that night, but they were not arguing over the fate of Dreyfus. Instead, they were discussing the disruption of the Anti-Dreyfus League.
“Listen to that, Jack!” breathed Frank. “Those men belong to the league.”
“They are members of the lower order.”