Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
"Faith," said O'Rourke rising, "I do that. 'Tis a great scheme ye have, monsieur."
He filled him a glass of champagne, turning to the others.
"Messieurs," he said, "I give ye the health of Monsieur Lemercier!"
"No!" interposed the prince, also rising with his glass. "You forget, Colonel O'Rourke. The health we drink is the health of Leopold le Premier, l'Empereur du Sahara!"
He flashed a hinting glance to the others; they, too, rose, with bravos, and drank standing.
O'Rourke's gaze fell upon the stripling, wine-flushed and staggering, complacent and conceited—a mere vain child, dreaming of empire as a plaything for his vanity.
And then the eyes of the Irishman turned to the others—the motley, self-centered crew of leeches, who, to this vapid youth of a multi-millionaire, bent "the pregnant hinges of the knee, that thrift might follow fawning."
It nauseated him; he put down his glass, and for a moment watched the cold, calculating, sardonic Prince de Grandlieu, who was, with meaning glances, showing the way to his associates to half madden le petit Lemercier with flattery. And the warning of that man's wife, of the princess, recurred to the Irishman. Again disgust stirred him.
"The divvle!" he muttered. "I'm in for it. Sure, there will be fighting, or I'm no O'Rourke!"
But his thoughts were concerning themselves with Chambret and Felix of Grandlieu. The more that he had occasion to consider them, at that time, the more thoroughly he became convinced that there would be much fighting ere he was done with them.
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