"And how long do you suppose you will lead this Gang, if you play the part of Pope and emperor?" demanded Blanche.
The other girls began to murmur and protest at this. "Listen to the Goat!" said one and another. "She must have some reason, or she wouldn't act so."
But Grace seized her opportunity.
"How long?" she repeated. "Not an hour! not a second! I resign. My last act is to break up this meeting. To your tents, O Israel!"
Then arose such a confusion of whispering, exclaiming, disclaiming, entreating, protesting, that no one voice could be heard. The owner of the room, fairly roused for a moment (but indeed she had finished the mouse), turned round to see what was wrong. For a moment she saw the two leaders, Grace and Blanche, facing each other, the one pale and quiet, the other red with anger, her eyes darting spiteful flames. Next moment, Grace made a single quick movement, and the room was in darkness. She had blown out the lamp.
"To your tents!" she repeated, sternly. And, hurrying, whispering, stumbling over the remains of their feast scattered on the floor, the frightened girls obeyed.