“I say that Lieutenant Duquesne shall come!”
“And I say he shall not!” thundered Pascal.
Old Manassa, awakened by the loud voices, started to his feet.
“What is the matter, Clarine?” he cried. “What is all this loud talk about?”
“Why,” said Clarine, “Vivienne has asked Lieutenant Duquesne to come to her birthday party and Pascal says that he shall not.”
“But I say he shall come!” cried Manassa, and he brought down his heavy staff with a loud whack on the floor.
“Don’t cry, little girl.” Hobbling up to Pascal, he shook his staff in his face and exclaimed with more vehemence than before:
“I say he shall come! Do you hear me, young man? Do you hear me, sir?”
Pascal saw that numerically the odds were against him, for they stood three to one. He knew from past experience that, if goaded on, he would grow more and more intemperate in his language. He would reply to him with dignity and keep his temper:
“You forget yourself, Manassa. I am master here.”