Three times he sounded the cry and all the German contingent springing to their feet, responded with a lusty Hoch while the band in the corridor blared forth the Marseillaise.
Desnoyers was greatly moved.

Thrills of enthusiasm were coursing up and down his spine.

His eyes became so moist that, when drinking his champagne, he almost believed that he had swallowed some tears.

He bore a French name.

He had French blood in his veins, and this that the gringoes were doing--although generally they seemed to him ridiculous and ordinary--was really worth acknowledging.