those that had taken his fancy. Not to seem to stand aloof Buton followed his example, and tried the effect of a canary-coloured coat, with elaborate lace frillings. As they were thus engaged there was an irregular tramp of feet in the square outside. Then a "Halt!"
The half-intoxicated officer in charge of the handful of undisciplined rascality lurched across to the doorway opposite the lead fountain.
"The so-called Marquis de Salais—which is his room, citizen?" he demanded.
"First to the front," replied the doorkeeper stolidly.
"There's something going on out there," said Dumont, as the "Halt!" reached them. Then he opened the window and stepped out on to the balcony.
"Prepare—fire!" commanded the officer.
"Good God!” exclaimed Buton. "They're mistaking him" Then he too stepped through the window to shout a warning.
"Diable, another marquis!" exclaimed the officer in vinous bewilderment. "Squad—fire again!"
The squad fired again, and Buton fell lifeless across the figure in the blue satin coat.
Hastings, 1915.
