“Monsieur,” he cried, completely losing his temper.  “I forbid you to use that tone to me.  You are making a mock of me.  You are insulting me.  I bore with you long enough to see how much further your insolence would dare to go.  I’m not to have a hand in the administration of my wife’s money?  I’m to forsake a plentiful means of livelihood?  I’m to become a commercial traveller?  I’m to expatriate myself?  I’m to explain, too, the reasons why I left the army?  I would not condescend.  Least of all to you.”

“May I ask why, Monsieur?”

“Tonnerre de Dieu!” He stamped his foot.  “Do you take me for a fool?  Here I am—­I came at my wife’s request, ready to take her back as my wife, ready to condone everything—­yes, Monsieur, as a man of the world—­you think I have no eyes, no understanding—­ready to take her off your hands—­”

I leaped to my feet.

“Monsieur!” I thundered.

Lola gave a cry and rushed forward.  I pushed her aside, and glared at him.  I was in a furious rage.  We glared at each other eye to eye.  I pointed to the door.

“Monsieur, sortez!”

I went to it and flung it wide.  Anastasius Papadopoulos trotted into the room.

His entrance was so queer, so unexpected, so anti-climatic, that for the moment the three of us were thrown off our emotional balance.

“I have heard all, I have heard all,” shrieked the little man.  “I know you for what you are.  I am the champion of the carissima signora and the protector of the English statesman.  You are a traitor and murderer—­”

Vauvenarde lifted his hand in a threatening gesture.

“Hold your tongue, you little abortion!” he shouted.

But Anastasius went on screaming and flourishing his bundle of papers.

“Ask him if he remembers the horse Sultan; ask him if he remembers the horse Sultan!”

Lola took him by the shoulders.

“Anastasius, you must go away from here—­to please me.  It’s my orders.”

But he shook himself free, and the silk hat which he had not removed fell off in the quick struggle.

“Ask him if he remembers Saupiquet,” he screamed, and then banged the door.

A malevolent devil put a sudden idea into my head and prompted speech.

“Do you remember Saupiquet?” I asked ironically.

“Monsieur, meddle with your own affairs and let me pass.  You shall hear from me.”

The dwarf planted himself before the door.

“You shall not pass till you have answered me.  Do you remember Saupiquet?  Do you remember the five francs you gave to Saupiquet to let you into Sultan’s stable?  Ah!  Ha!  Ha!  You wince.  You grow pale.  Do you remember the ball of poison you put down Sultan’s throat?”

Lola started forward with flaming eyes and anguished face.

“You—­you?” she gasped.  “You were so ignoble as to do that?”