"Monsieur, I have news—big news. Listen closely——"
There was a sudden interruption. A young man in the uniform of the Royal Guards of Ironia rose from a nearby table and stalked towards them. The dancer caught her breath in a way that almost suggested fright, and subsided into her chair. The officer frowned at her angrily, ignoring Fenton entirely.
"Anna," he exclaimed in Ironian, "come with me at once. I insist!"
"By what right, Lieutenant Neviloff?" demanded the girl.
"Come at once," repeated Neviloff in a hectoring tone. "I must not be trifled with. You are trying my patience."
The Canadian had not understood a word of the conversation, but he rightly judged the nature of it from the attitude of the others.
"What is it all about?" he demanded. "Shall I send him politely about his business or just drop him over the balcony?"
"Allow me to present Lieutenant Neviloff, Monsieur Fenton," said the girl, anxious to avoid a scene.
Fenton rose, and the two men faced each other steadily. The officer ignored the introduction, glaring at the Canadian in the most offensive way.
"Mademoiselle Petrowa accompanies me," he declared in broken French. "I warn you, fellow, to be more careful in future. Anna, come at once!"