"La France! La France!" Voyageurs shrieked like mad.
"Old England," stammered Edwin Glyndon, pounding the table.
"Old fren's," spoke Basil Dreaulond, with quiet modesty.
"Old lovers!" Clear as a clarion Desirée's toast rang through the din, thrilling Dunvegan by its audacity, its fervor. As consuming flames her eyes drew him, withering stout resolves, melting his will. He bent his head lower, lower, glorying in the complete confession those two swift words had made.
"Ah, yes!" called Glyndon, leering evilly, "you seem to know that toast—too well."
She sprang from her seat in a fury. He sprang from his, ugly in his mood.
"You dog!" Her nostrils quivered. "You coward!"
"And liar!" Dunvegan's menacing face eager to avenge the insult rose behind her shoulder.
Uttering a wild, inarticulate cry, Glyndon struck the scornful face of the woman. Desirée gave a little moan and fell half stunned against the table.
The Brondel men roared in anger. As one man they sprang forward with the single purpose of rending Edwin Glyndon. But Dunvegan was quicker than they. White to his lips, he had leaped at the former clerk. His first savage impulse was to strike, to maim, to kill! One blow with all his mighty strength and Glyndon would never have spoken again.