“And cook well,” added Clotilde. “The supper you have given us was perfect.”
“Ah, you shall taste a wedding breakfast; but not prepared for that odious Tom Tankard!”
“For whom, then?” inquired Clotilde.
Before an answer could be returned, Tom rushed into the room, and quite frightened Clotilde by his looks.
“So you are getting tired of me, are you?” he cried to the fickle girl. “How long have you been tired? Only this very morning you said you liked me better than any one else; but this French cook has made you change your mind. He may have you, and welcome. I've done with you for ever.”
“You don't mean it, dear Tom?” she cried, penitentially.
“Yes, I do,” he rejoined, “and I'm glad I've found you out in time. But I can't say much for your choice!” he added, casting a glance of scorn at his rival.
“What have you to say against me, saar?” cried
Zephyrus, with a fierce gesticulation, and shaking his clenched hand at Tom.
“You won't frighten me, monsieur,” observed Tom, quietly. “Consider yourself thrashed.”