My blessed man, who was a saint of a husband, would have broken the bowl over my ears if I had dared to interfere between his glass and his mouth!" Whereupon Madame Roquet filled her own glass and mine, and Madame Robineau, less indulgent to her husband than herself, followed our example.
Just at this moment, a confused hubbub of voices, and other sounds expressive of a _fracas_, broke out in the direction of the trees behind the orchestra.

The dancers deserted their polka, the musicians stopped fiddling, the noisy supper-party in the next arbor abandoned their cold chicken and salad, and everybody ran to the scene of action.

Dalrymple was on his feet in a moment; but Suzette held Andre back with both hands and implored him to stay.
"Some _mauvais sujets_, no doubt, who refuse to pay the score," suggested Madame Roquet.
"Or Sullivan, who has got into one of his infernal scrapes," muttered Dalrymple, with a determined wrench at his moustache.

"Come on, anyhow, and let us see what is the matter!" So we snatched up our hats and ran out, just as Monsieur Robineau seized the opportunity to drink another tumbler of punch when his wife was not looking.
Following in the direction of the rest, we took one of the paths behind the orchestra, and came upon a noisy crowd gathered round a wooden summer-house.
"It's a fight," said one.
"It's a pickpocket," said another.
"Bah! it's only a young fellow who has been making love to a girl," exclaimed a third.
We forced our way through, and there we saw Mr.Frank Sullivan with his hat off, his arms crossed, and his back against the wall, presenting a dauntless front to the gesticulations and threats of an exceedingly enraged young man with red hair, who was abusing him furiously.

The amount of temper displayed by this young man was something unparalleled.
He was angry in every one of his limbs.