Mouquin rushed in as if pursued, leaving the door open. Within a few feet of Ronsard he stood still, shivering in an ague of excitement.
"Well, what is it? Speak, man. You chatter and grimace like an ape."
Mouquin waved a small square of paper printed in Japanese. "An extra! War! They say Togo has fired!"
Ronsard leaned forward and snatched the paper. He read Japanese well.
"War! Togo fired this morning! Three Russian boats already sunk! Mother of God!"
The telephone began a frantic ringing. Mouquin went to it sidewise. "Your Excellency, the Russian minister."
"Hold the wire." Ronsard got to his feet. Mouquin still chattered. His words came now in a torrent. He was drunk with the bigness of the hour. "Fired, your Excellency! Japan the pygmy, with no further provocation, has dared fire upon Imperial Russia!"
Ronsard eyed the speaker with a sort of scorn. "True, Monsieur, and, as I understand, Japan the pygmy has begun already to sink Imperial Russia."
Mouquin stared for a moment at the speaker, seeking a clue to the unexpected words. Perhaps he saw for himself a chance at singularity. He bowed over, gave a low laugh, and backing toward the door cried out, "And has begun to—sink Imperial Russia! Banzai Nippon!" He went out quickly.
Ronsard stood quiet by the telephone. It hissed and bubbled like an impaled crab. He lifted the receiver slowly, his eyes still on the door. "I know it now," he murmured, "I have long suspected it. Somewhere in this desert of gray huts Mouquin has a Japanese wife. It was her lips that uttered through him that 'Banzai Nippon.' And so I think it would soon be with the impressionable Pierre. Hello! Oui, it is Ronsard."