Excerpt from The Destroyer: A Tale of International Intrigue
Monsieur Aristide Brisson, the fat little proprietor of the Hotel du Nord - a modest house facing the Place Puget at Toulon - turned uneasily in his sleep, as though fretted by a disturbing dream; then he awoke with a start and rubbed his eyes. A glance at the dark windows showed that the dawn was yet far distant, and he was about to turn over and go thankfully to sleep again when a sudden remembrance leaped into his brain. In an instant, he had bounded from the bed, struck a match, and, after a look at his watch, lighted a candle. Then he returned to the bed, and, without compunction, grasped the plump arm of Madame Brisson, who was sleeping peacefully, and shook her roughly.
"Wake, Gabrielle, wake!" he cried - in French, of course.
Madame Brisson, who was also little and fat with a white skin that was her pride, opened her eyes, stared an instant, and then sat up in bed.
"Heavens, Brisson!" she cried, her hand to her throat. "What is it? What has happened? Have you illness?"
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