"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.
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