"Let us go somewhere out of sight."
"The nearest wine-shop--I have not breakfasted yet, have you? A bottle
of red seal would suit you, I dare say," said Hyde, remembering
Anatole's little weakness.
"It is not to be refused. I am with you, comrade. At the sign of the
'Pinched Nose' we shall find the best of everything," replied Anatole,
heartily, and the pair passed into the street.
It was barely a dozen yards to the wine-shop, and they walked there
arm-in-arm in boisterous good-fellowship, elbowing their way through
the crowd in a manner that was not exactly popular.
"Take care, imbecile!" cried one hulking fellow whom Anatole had
shouldered off the path.
"Make room, then," replied our friend, rudely.
"Would you dare--" began the other, in a menacing voice, adding some
words in a lower tone.
"Excuse. I was in the wrong," said Anatole, suddenly humbled.
"You are right to avoid a quarrel," remarked Hyde, when they were
seated at table. He had been quietly amused at his companion's easy
surrender.
"I could have eaten him raw. But why should I? He is, perhaps, a
father of a family--the support of a widowed mother: if I had
destroyed him they might have come to want. No; let him go."
"All the same, he does not seem inclined to go. There he is, still
lurking about the front of the shop.
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