In broken, gasping phrases Floriot told the story; and as Noel finally grasped the details, he clutched his friend's arms, and with a shout of joy hurled him on to the bed. Floriot bounded back to his feet and swung his fist into the other's back. Then these two gray-haired men threw each other around the room, rolled over together on the bed, knocked chairs over and tables upside down, shouting and laughing at the top of their lungs.
"Day after to-morrow! Twenty years, old man! I knew we'd win out at last!"
The uproar reached Raymond in his studio at the other end of the house and he ran up to see what was the matter. As he threw open the door of the disordered room he saw his father and M. Noel shaking hands as enthusiastically as if they had not met for years.
"Why, father, what's the matter?" he cried.
Floriot ran over and threw an arm across his son's shoulders.
"Raymond, my boy!" he shouted, "A wonderful—an unbelievable happiness has come to your father! I can't tell you anything yet but, my God! I'm happy!"
[CHAPTER XX]
THE TRIAL BEGINS
Although he had been up most of the night at work on his speech, Maître Raymond Floriot was among the early arrivals at court the next morning. His unlined, youthful face wore an expression of grave responsibility as incongruous as his black advocate's gown when he took his seat at his desk.