“Tapilow,” I cried, “defend yourself, you coward!  Do you want me to strangle you where you stand?”

He came for me then with the frenzy of a man who is in a desperate strait.  He was as strong as I, and he had the advantage in height.  For a moment I was borne back.  He struck me heavily upon the face, and I made no attempt to defend myself.  I waited my time.  When it came, I dealt him such a blow that he reeled away, and before he could recover I took him by the back of his neck and flung him from me across the table which our struggle had already half upset.  He lay there, a shapeless mass, surrounded by broken glass, streaming wine, a little heap of flowers from the overturned vase.  Then the hubbub of the room was suddenly stilled.  A dozen hands were laid upon me.

“For God’s sake, monsieur!” I heard Louis cry.

Monsieur Carvin led me away.  I looked back once more at the prostrate figure and then followed him.

“This is not my fault,” I said calmly.  “He knew quite well that it was bound to happen.  I told him that wherever we next met, whether it was in a street or a drawing-room, or any place whatsoever upon the face of the earth, I would deal out his punishment with my own hands, even though it should spell death.  Perhaps,” I continued, “you would like to send for the police.  You can have my card, if you like.”

“We do not send for the police here,” Monsieur Carvin said hoarsely.  “Louis will take you away at once.  Where do you stay?”

“At the Ritz,” I answered.

“Keep quiet to-morrow!” he exclaimed.  “Louis will come to you.  This way.”

I shrugged my shoulders.  At that moment it mattered little to me whether I paid the penalty for what had happened or not.  I even looked back for a last time into the restaurant.  I saw the strained, eager faces of the people bent forward to watch me.  Some of the men had left their seats and come out into the body of the hall to get a better view.  The man Delora was among them.  The girl was leaning forward in her place, with her fingers upon the table, and her dark eyes riveted with horrible intensity upon the fallen figure.  I saw mademoiselle—­the turquoise-covered friend of Bartot.  She, too, was leaning forward, but her eyes ignored the man upon the floor, and were seeking to meet mine.  There was something unreal about the whole scene, something which I was never able afterwards to focus absolutely in my mind as a whole, although disjointed parts of it were always present in my thoughts.  But I know that as I looked back she rose a little to her feet and leaned over the table, and heedless of Bartot, who was now by her side, she waved her hand almost as though in approbation.  I was within a few feet of her, upon the threshold of the door, and I heard her words, spoken, perhaps, to her companion,—­

“It is so that men should deal with their enemies!”

A moment later, Louis and I were driving through the streets toward my hotel.  It was already light, and we passed a great train of market wagons coming in from the country.  Along the Boulevard, into which we turned, was sprinkled a curious medley of wastrels of the night, and men and women on their way to work.  It had been raining a little time before, but as we turned to descend the hill a weak sunshine flickered out from behind the clouds.