Somebody gave him a glass of champagne. He raised it.
"To the revolution," he said mechanically.
There was a silence--it seemed to Roland an awkward silence. As if he
had said something improper, the marquises and counts began to drift
from the room, till only Bombito was left. Roland regarded him with
some apprehension. He was looking larger and more unusual than ever.
But to-night, apparently, Bombito was in genial mood. He came forward
and slapped Roland on the shoulder. And then the remarkable fact came
to light that Bombito spoke English, or a sort of English.
"My old chap," he said. "I would have a speech with you."
He slapped Roland again on the shoulder.
"The others they say, 'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' Maraquita say
'Break it with Senor Bleke gently.' So I break it with you gently."
He dealt Roland a third stupendous punch. Whatever was to be broken
gently, it was plain to Roland that it was not himself. And suddenly
there came to him a sort of intuition that told him that Bombito was
nervous.
"After all you have done for us, Senor Bleke, we shall seem to you
ungrateful bounders, but what is it? Yes? No? I shouldn't wonder,
perhaps.
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