It was the curt, abrupt expression of a mood, but there was cleverness, distinction, humor in every line.
"Boy, this is fine! Fine! That duel will be fought, take my word for it.

But, look here, we must toast this first attempt! Madame! Madame!" He literally shouted the words, and madame came flying out.
"Madame, have you a liqueur brandy--very old?
I have discovered that this is a _fete_ day." "But certainly, monsieur! A _cognac_ of the finest excellence." "Out with it, then! And bring two glasses--no, bring three glasses! You must drink a toast with us!" Madame bustled off, laughing and excited, and again the Irishman gripped the boy's shoulder.
"You've taken me in!" he cried.

"Absolutely and entirely taken me in! I thought you a slip of a boy with a head full of notions, and what do I find but that it's a little genius I've got! A genius, upon my word! And here comes the blessed liquor!" His whole-hearted enthusiasm was like fire, it leaped from one to the other of his companions.

As madame came back, gasping in her haste, he ran to meet her, and, seizing the brandy and the glasses, drew her with him to the table.
"Madame, you are a Frenchwoman--therefore an artist.

Tell me what you think of this!" In his excitement he spoke in English, but madame understood his actions if not his words.