Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/133

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wasting time here," he complained. "Start with women and you're done for. One glass of wine and they begin to cackle like a lot of hens."

By this time Suzette and Mary were shedding drunken tears, while Anna and Jeanne hovered over them. Pierre, with a scowl of distaste, rose from his chair.

"Whoever wants to," he said, "can come with me-and whoever wants to stay here, can go to the devil! I won't waste a whole day with a bunch of blabbering women."

Marcel got up to follow him. Lucien joined them, pausing to squirt a spray from a seltzer siphon at the tipsy females. Making a valiant effort to keep their balance, Mary and Suzette got to their feet, too.

  • * *

In a cloud of smoke, weaving forms gestured violently, vehemently arguing and shouting at the top of their voices. Every square foot of the large Syndicate hall was packed. The heat was overpowering, and the noise even worse. Suddenly a bell rang on the platform. Its sharp metallic clang cut the air like a knife.

"Quiet! Everybody quiet! The meeting is going to begin!"

But it was impossible for the crowd to settle down. The blood coursed too violently through pulsing arteries. Still in the grip of excitement after their great victory, the people in the hall could not, would not, subside into quiet, but the metal bell on the platform kept up its harsh clang.

At last there was quiet.

The speaker on the platform leaned against a table. His round face was red. His eyes measured the mood of the thousand-headed crowd before him. He smiled, and raised his arms.

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