Eric spoke slowly and distinctly, and with an air of honest truth that at once convinced the landlord. But the excitable little Frenchman, who had been clasping the precious ring, and murmuring, “Ciel, ciel! ah, ciel!” in an incoherent way, now sprang at Eric, and grasping him by the collar, exclaimed, angrily, “O, you fine fellow! you wicked one! where is my—my gold?—my gold? where is it?” and he gave the boy a series of shakes.
Eric’s anger was fully aroused. With flashing eyes, “How dare you!” he said, indignantly, and, turning upon the Frenchman, flung him with some violence against the wall.
This made the little Frenchman still more furious; he would have sprung again upon Eric, but the officer interfered. Johnny, with his eyes almost starting from his head, had terrifiedly regarded this little scene, doubling his fists to aid in Eric’s rescue.
Eric turned indignantly to the landlord,—
“What is the meaning of all this? Are two defenceless American boys, your guests, to be openly insulted in your presence without protection?”
“Count D’Orsay has been robbed of his diamond ring and a sum of money,” explained the landlord. “He insisted that no person should leave the hotel without examination. That is why we came to you. He has found the ring in your hands, which is very astonishing, and he now suspects you of having the gold.”
The landlord spoke gently, and seemed grieved to be obliged to hurt their feelings, as he knew his implied meaning must.
Poor Eric’s face flushed hotly with shame and anger, while Johnny cried, furiously, “Eric, Eric, for pity’s sake send for papa! He will teach that hateful Frenchman what it is to call us thieves.”
“Be quiet, John!” said Eric, imperiously. “Come here.”
“Now, sir,” turning to the landlord, “please to let your officer search us, and then our baggage. Do it at once, for we are to leave Strasbourg directly.”