"Miserable, selfish cur!" he murmured aloud as he melted a piece of wax in the flame of a match. "You would risk the happiness of your wife, your old friend, and their children--all absolutely innocent of wrong--for the sake of a minute's self-indulgence.... Be ashamed of yourself, you whining weakling...."
It had become a habit of Légionnaire John Bull to talk to himself aloud, when alone--a habit he endeavoured to check as he had recently, on more than one occasion, found himself talking aloud in the company of others.
Having finished the polishing of his leather-work, he took his Lebel rifle from the rack and commenced to clean it. As he threw open the chamber, he paused, the bolt in his right hand, the rifle balanced in his left. Someone was running with great speed along the corridor toward the room. What was up? Was it a case of Faites le sac? Would the head of an excited and delighted Legionary be thrust in at the door with a yell of--"Aux armes! Faites le sac"?
The door burst open and in rushed Mikhail Kyrilovitch, bare-headed, coatless, with staring eyes and blanched cheeks.
"Save me, save me, Monsieur," he shrieked, rushing towards the old Legionary. "Save me--I am a woman...."
"Good God!" ejaculated Legionary John Bull, involuntarily glancing from the face to the flat chest of the speaker.
"I am a girl," sobbed the soi-disant Mikhail.... "I am a girl.... And that loathsome beast Luigi Rivoli has found me out.... He's coming.... He chased me.... What shall I do? What shall I do? Poor Feodor...."
As Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli entered the room, panting slightly with his unwonted exertions, the girl crouched behind John Bull, her face in her hands, her body shaken by deep sobs. It had all happened so quickly that John Bull found himself standing with his gun balanced, still in the attitude into which he had frozen on hearing the running feet without.
So it had come, had it--and he was to try conclusions with Luigi Rivoli at last? Well, it should be no inconclusive rough-and-tumble. Perhaps this was the solution of his problem, and might settle, once and for all, the question of his future?
"Ho-ho! Ho-ho!" roared the Neapolitan, "she's your girl, is she, you aristocratico Inglese? Ho-ho! You are faisant Suisse are you? Ho-ho! Your own private girl in the very chambrée! Corpo di Bacco! You shall learn the penalty for breaking the Legion's first law of share-and-share-alike. Get out of my way, cane Inglese."