And Fernand meant it.

He had discarded all care for the wounded man.
Ronicky Doone stepped to him and drew him aside.

"Mr.Fernand," he said, "I've got to have a couple of words with you." "Come into my private room," said Fernand, eager to get the fighter out of view of the rest of the little crowd.

He drew Ronicky and Jerry Smith into a little apartment which opened off the hall.

It was furnished with an almost feminine delicacy of style, with wide-seated, spindle-legged Louis XV.