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Esther's roommate is down but she can fix that.

I waded into the crowd, and what I saw made my blood boil even hotter.

Velasquez had his right hand on Madeleine's left buttock, and he was caressing it, with a sly smirk on his face when he saw me. As he turned slightly, I could see that Madeleine had a shocked and panicked look on her face, like she didn't know what to do.

Finally, she simply brushed his hand away, but he simply changed hands and began caressing her right buttock. She brushed his and away again, but slid a hand up her side in a fairly lewd manner, until moments later, the music stopped as the orchestra took a break from performing.

Madeleine was nearly in tears as she dashed to where I was standing, and several people around us looked over in alarm as she came into my embrace.

"Robert, you saw?" she said in a quivering voice. "He ..."

"It's all right, my love," I whispered in her ear. "I will take care of this."

"I think I need to use the ladies room," she said. "I'm not feeling well."

"Go, and when you return, we will go home," I said.

I'm not sure why Velasquez thought I would stand by and watch him paw my wife. Maybe it was because I always exhibited a calm, pleasant demeanor in public, and was fairly non-confrontational.

But he'd forgotten - or maybe he never knew - that I had been a soldier once and had risen to the rank of sergeant, a rank I earned in combat. Moreover, despite my years in the diplomatic corps, I was still a Cajun, and we don't let insults like that go idly by.

After I got Madeleine somewhat sorted out, with another woman to escort her to the ladies, I turned my attention to Don Juan Diego Velasquez.

He was seated at a table with some of his friends from the Spanish embassy, with his back to me. He was regaling his colleagues some story about, "the serving girl," and what he'd done with her before, and what he'd like to do with her again.

I assumed he was referring to Madeleine, and when he made some comment about how he'd fucked her once before that just fueled my rage.

His friends saw me coming, but their warning was too late. I clasped a hand around the side of his neck, effectively pinning him to the chair. I think in that moment, he realized that he had seriously underestimated me.

At that age, I was not a particularly large man, but I wasn't small, either, standing slightly under six feet tall. Moreover, all of my life I have been lean and fit, with powerful hands and upper-body strength that came from wrestling gators with Papa as a teenager.

When I had joined the Army, I learned the value of physical fitness, and I had made exercise a part of my daily routine ever since. The embassy had a gymnasium with its complex and I made use of it nearly every day when I could.

Keeping a firm grip on Velasquez's neck, I leaned over and whispered in his ear in perfect Spanish.

"Senor Velasquez," I began, and I could feel him bristle. Spanish dons in the pre-Civil War era didn't like being called, "senor," because they considered it a term of usage for commoners. I knew that and had used it deliberately.

"If you ever come near my wife again, or say anything bad about her again," I hissed. "I will hunt you down, rip your balls off and stuff them down your throat. Comprende?"

He never looked at me, but just nodded his head. I released him from my grip, turned and walked away without another word to anyone at his table.

At that moment, Madeleine came out of the hallway into the banquet room in the company of the wife of one of the correspondents for the New York Herald-Tribune, looking a little pale. She smiled bravely when she saw me, but I knew something wasn't quite right.

"The champagne and rich food didn't settle well on her stomach," the lady said. "But she'll be fine, I think, once you get her home."

"Thank you, ma'am," Madeleine said.

"Oh, my pleasure," the woman said, giving me a wink as she returned to where her husband was in conversation with Mr. Stark.

It was a cold night, and Madeleine snuggled up to me in the taxi ride to o

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