"I am a girl," sobbed the soi-disant Mikhail.… "I am a girl.… And that loathsome beast Luigi Rivoli has found me out.… He's coming.… He chased me.… What shall I do? What shall I do? Poor Feodor.…"
As Légionnaire Luigi Rivoli entered the room, panting slightly with his unwonted exertions, the girl crouched behind John Bull, her face in her hands, her body shaken by deep sobs. It had all happened so quickly that John Bull found himself standing with his gun balanced, still in the attitude into which he had frozen on hearing the running feet without.
So it had come, had it—and he was to try conclusions with Luigi Rivoli at last? Well, it should be no inconclusive rough-and-tumble. Perhaps this was the solution of his problem, and might settle, once and for all, the question of his future?
"Ho-ho! Ho-ho!" roared the Neapolitan, "she's your girl, is she, you aristocratico Inglese? Ho-ho! You are faisant Suisse are you? Ho-ho! Your own private girl in the very chambrée! Corpo di Bacco! You shall learn the penalty for breaking the Legion's first law of share-and-share-alike. Get out of my way, cane Inglese."
John Bull closed the breech of his rifle, and pointed the weapon at Rivoli's broad breast.
"Stand back," he said quietly. "Stand back, you foul-mouthed scum of Naples, or I'll blow your dirty little soul out of your greasy carcase." He raised his voice slightly. "Stand back, you dog, do you hear?" he added, advancing slightly towards his opponent.
Luigi Rivoli gave ground. The rifle might be loaded. You never knew with these cursed, quiet Northerners,
