Then, as he realised the ruin of all the hopes of his life, and the cruel injustice with which he had been treated, he broke into a cry of despair, and rushed from the room with the hot tears of impotent anger running down his face.

So, sobbing, gesticulating, with coat unbuttoned and hat awry, he burst into the stable where placid Amos Green was smoking his pipe and watching with critical eyes the grooming of the horses.
"What in thunder is the matter now ?" he asked, holding his pipe by the bowl, while the blue wreaths curled up from his lips.
"This sword," cried the Frenchman--"I have no right to wear it! I shall break it!" "Well, and I'll break my knife too if it will hearten you up." "And these," cried De Catinat, tugging at his silver shoulder-straps, "they must go." "Ah, you draw ahead of me there, for I never had any.

But come, friend, let me know the trouble, that I may see if it may not be mended." "To Paris! to Paris!" shouted the guardsman frantically.

"If I am ruined, I may yet be in time to save them.

The horses, quick!" It was clear to the American that some sudden calamity had befallen, so he aided his comrade and the grooms to saddle and bridle.
Five minutes later they were flying on their way, and in little more than an hour their steeds, all reeking and foam-flecked, were pulled up outside the high house in the Rue St.Martin.