A second, a fifth, a tenth time he tasted it, drinking more deeply each time, and would have taken it ten times more had not his bride cunningly concealed it.

It was like stealing a tiger's kittens.
The moment quickly came when he wanted his eleventh bumper.

As he presented his request a silent shiver of consternation ran through the dark company; and when, in what the prince meant as a remonstrative tone, he repeated the petition--splitting the table with his fist by way of punctuation--there ensued a hustling up staircases and a cramming into dim corners that left him alone at the banquet.
Leaving the table, he strode upstairs and into the chirruping and dancing of the grand salon.

There was a halt in the cotillion and a hush of amazement like the shutting off of steam.

Bras-Coupe strode straight to his master, laid his paw upon his fellow-bridegroom's shoulder and in a thunder-tone demanded: "More!" The master swore a Spanish oath, lifted his hand and--fell, beneath the terrific fist of his slave, with a bang that jingled the candelabra.
Dolorous stroke!--for the dealer of it.