"Play me," he commanded, "a conquering air! Play me the Marseillaise!" Mr.Pincornet started violently.

Down came the fiddle from his chin, the bow in his beruffled hand cut the air with a gesture of angry repudiation.

When he was excited he forgot his English, and he now swore volubly in French; then, recovering himself, stepped back a pace, and regarded with high dudgeon his host of the night.

"Sir," he cried, "before I became a dancing master I was a French gentleman! I served the King.

I will teach you to dance, but--Morbleu!--I will not play you the Marseillaise!" "I beg your pardon," said Rand.