“À bas l’Empereur.”
Down came the bust, with a crash, into the fender, and was smashed.
Roy stood still, conscious of having done a very silly thing, and a shriek sounded in his rear. The door had just been opened, the landlady had appeared, and she was now shaking her fists, and executing a dance of rage.
“I say, Roy, stop! Don’t go on fooling like this. You’ll get us all into trouble.” Curtis spoke roughly, realising in a moment that matters might become serious. “Tell her you mean nothing by it.”
“Mean nothing. But of course I do mean——”
“Roy! Will you hold your tongue? Stop this foolery!”
Roy obeyed, while the woman, shaking her fists, continued to pour out a torrent of abuse, in the midst of which occurred several times the ominous word “gendarmes.”
Curtis went nearer to her, and spoke in his quietest tones.
“Madame is mistaken,” he said. “Nothing is intended. Monsieur is but a boy, and Monsieur was but in jest.”
“It is an insult to l’Empereur! It shall be made known,” screamed the other.