Fiercely the boy flung himself upon her and began to sob noiselessly, convulsively, with pitiful indrawings of the breath; and now she could no longer doubt what was coming. Weak and dizzy, she felt like calling aloud for help, but the mere thought of bringing Basil upon the scene, and of what his anger would be against Piotr, choked the appeal in her throat. Instead she gathered him closer and closer to her, crooning over him, hoping that she might once more avert the storm as she had so often done before; but the very roots of his being seemed to have been shaken, and nothing she could do would calm him. At last there was a momentary lull, when, exhausted by his jealous fury, Piotr lay panting across her knees, head down, face hidden, throbbing all over like a little over-charged engine. “Piotr,” she ventured, ready to burst into tears herself--“Piotr, please, please be quiet. You hurt me!” Like a galvanized frog the boy bounded away from her, and, swaying back and forth, his eyes ablaze, literally shaking from head to foot in his uncontrollable rage, he roared: “Promise you won’t bring the beast--promise--promise--promise--or I--tell--you--I’ll bash in his--his--h-head!” And all at once he rolled on the carpet at her feet, kicking with all his might. At that unfortunate moment Basil opened the door and walked in. One glance, and although he had never as yet seen his son in one of these fits, he understood, also he realized the risk of such a scene for Marguerite, and in two strides he reached Piotr and, picking him up as if he weighed an ounce, held him tight. “What do you mean by that, sir?” he asked, grimly. “Basil!” Marguerite cried, rushing to him. “Basil! For God’s sake--he doesn’t know what he is doing! Please, for my sake, don’t be harsh!” “Never you mind, Marguerite,” Basil answered, greatly alarmed for her. “I won’t be harsh, but we must understand each other, he and I.” An understanding did not seem likely to result, for Piotr, far from desisting, was wriggling desperately in Basil’s arms, poor little chap! maddened by the impossibility of escape, his face gray, his eyes nearly starting out of his head; and Marguerite suddenly caught hold of her husband’s shoulder with a grip that surprised him. “You sha’n’t do that!” she commanded. “He is quite beside himself. You’ll only make it worse. Give him to me. I know what to do when he is like this!” What would have followed cannot be conjectured had not Garrassime, attracted by the noise, and guessing what was happening, run into the room and, without a word, taken hold of Piotr and carried him off without further ceremony, still kicking and yelling. Basil, for an instant completely dumfounded, remained planted, as it were, in the middle of the room, while Marguerite, thoroughly ashamed of her momentary loss of self-control, hung her head and twisted the ends of her peignoir ribbons, vainly trying to recapture herself.