“And why does not monsieur drink with us?” he demanded in a harsh voice, thrusting his face toward Chester.  “Can it be that you are spies?”

“No,” said Chester, taking a step backward; “we are not spies.  We are British officers, and we drank your toast in water.  We do not drink wine.”

“British officers!” repeated the Frenchman.  “Then how comes it that you wear the uniforms of French lieutenants?”

“That,” replied Chester quietly, “is none of your business.”

“None of my business!” echoed the Frenchman. “Mon Dieu!  And what if I make it some of my business, eh?”

“If I were you,” said Chester, “I wouldn’t think of such a thing.”

The Frenchman took a step backward at the menace in the lad’s tone; but the other French officers now gathered about, and these reenforcements apparently lent him courage.

“So!” he exclaimed.  “It is that we are not good enough to drink with you, eh?”

“No,” replied Chester; “we simply don’t drink.  That is all.  We appreciate your courtesy in thinking of us, and we drank your toast in water, which is the strongest drink we ever touch.”

Hal, who up to this time had remained silent in his chair, now rose to his feet.

“Look here,” he said, facing the fiery Frenchman; “we are on important business and haven’t time to fool with you.  My friend has explained why we didn’t drink wine with you.  That should settle the matter.”

“But it doesn’t settle it,” exclaimed the Frenchman, now in a rage.  “You refused to drink with us because you think us not good enough.”

“All right, have it that way if you will,” said Chester wearily.  “If you say so, then we didn’t drink because you are not good enough.”

“Mon Dieu!” cried the Frenchman, and his hand rested upon the butt of his revolver.  “You have insulted me, and for that you shall pay.”

With one hand still resting upon his revolver, he stepped quickly forward, and before Chester could realize what was up, he slapped the lad sharply in the face.

This was too much for Chester.  Up to this time he had remained perfectly cool, but the blow in the face, light though it was, was more than he could stand.  He took a quick step forward, and as he did so his right fist flashed out, and the young Frenchman, struck squarely upon the nose, went to the floor with blood streaming from his wounded member.

There came several subdued exclamations from the others of the party, and the hands of the other French officers dropped to their revolvers.

But before any of them could draw, Hal had whipped forth his own automatics, and covered them.

“I’ll blow the head off the first one who makes a move,” he said sternly.

The French officers made no move to draw.

The Frenchman whom Chester had knocked down now got to his feet, considerably sobered up by the force of the lad’s blow.  He was suffering more from wounded dignity than anything else, and he was very angry.  He approached Chester.