“But I won't!” cried Zephyrus. “I never was thrashed, and never will be!”
“Yes you will!” cried Tom.
And being somewhat of a bruiser, he dealt him a smart tap on the nose, or somewhere near it, that knocked him backwards against the table, upsetting a number of glasses with a tremendous crash.
Clotilde ran screaming out of the room.
“Diable, vous avez poché mon oeil au beurre noir, monsieur!” cried Zephyrus, as he picked himself up. “But you shall pay for the affront with your life's blood!”
“Don't be afraid, monsieur,” said Tom, stoutly. “I'll give you satisfaction in any way you like; sword, pistol, or this!” he added, holding up his clenched fist.
“But the duel is no longer allowed in your country,” said Zephyrus.
“Then we'll settle our quarrel in yours,” rejoined Tom. “I'll go over with you to Boulogne, or Dieppe, whenever you please.”
While these menaces were exchanged, Mr. Higgins, Mr. Tankard, and several others had entered the room, alarmed by the crash of glass and Clotilde's cries.
They instantly perceived that a conflict had taken place.