Lucille startled herself no less than her listeners by a sharp sob. She caught Roy’s arm with both hands, holding him fast. “Roy—Roy—what is it that you have done? O what have you done?” she cried.
“Is it that bosh about the cast? O I know. They want to be paid, I suppose. Lucille, Den has been asleep, and I’ve been as quiet as anything—and then for you to come in like this! Den, you just keep still, and I’ll go and speak to them. I’ll settle it all. I know my father will pay.”
“No, no, no—stay—you must not go,” panted Lucille. “Stay—it is the gendarmes! And they come to arrest you—to take you away!”
The word “gendarmes” acted as an electric shock, bringing Denham to his feet in a moment.
“What is it all about? I do not understand.” He touched Roy on the shoulder, with an imperative—“Tell me.”
“It was only—I’d have told you before, only I didn’t like to bother you. It was at Curtis’. There was a bust of Boney on the mantelshelf, and I just shied bits of wood at it, in fun. And I said ‘À bas Napoléon,’ or something of that sort; and then I threw a ball, and the idiotic thing tumbled down and broke into pieces. And the landlady—she’s a regular out-and-out virago—happened that very moment to come in, and she saw and heard. And she vowed she would tell of it. Curtis tried to explain things away, and I offered to pay, but she wouldn’t listen. She went on shrieking at us, and said it was an insult to the Emperor, and Wirion should know of it. She’s a Bonapartist—worse luck! Curtis made me hurry off, and said I was to tell my father at once. But he was out, and you—you know——” with a glance at Lucille, who wrung her hands, while Ivor said,
“Roy, were you utterly mad?”
“I—don’t know. Was it very stupid? Will it matter, do you think? I’m sorry about you—most. I thought they would wait till to-morrow; but I suppose they want me to go and pay directly. Is that it?” looking towards Lucille.
“No, no, no,” she answered, again wringing her hands. “It is to take—to take Roy—to the citadel!”
“To the citadel!” Roy opened his eyes. “O I say, what a farce! For knocking down a wretched little image, not worth fifty sous!”