"She is, I believe, an acquaintance of yours. As for me--"

"My name is Bartot, sir," he cried fiercely.

"An excellent name," I answered, "but unknown to me. I do not yet
understand by what right you intrude into a private room here."

He laughed hardly.

"'Intrude'!" he cried. "One does not call it that. 'Intrude,' when I
find you two together, eh?"

I turned to the girl, who, with her handkerchief dabbed to her eyes,
was still affecting a perfect frenzy of fear.

"Has this person any claims upon you?" I asked. "He seems to me to be
an exceedingly disagreeable fellow."

Bartot's face grew purple. His cheeks seemed to distend and his eyes
grow smaller. It was no longer necessary for him to play a part. He
was becoming angry indeed.

"Monsieur," he said, "I remember you now. It was you who tried to
flirt with this lady last night in the Cafe des Deux Epingles. You
have not even the excuse of ignorance. All the world knows that I have
claims upon this lady."

I bowed.