miration for mademoiselle herself, hunger carried the day, and I
was soon too deeply engaged in the discussion of my supper to pay much
attention to aught else. It was just then that, forgetting where I was,
and unmindful that I was not enjoying the regular fare of an inn, I
called out, as if to the waiter, for "bread." A roar of laughter ran
through the room at my mistake, when a dark-whiskered little fellow, in
an undress frock, stuck his small sword into a loaf, and handed it to me
from the table where he sat.

There was something in the act which rather puzzled me, and might have
continued longer to do so, had not Pioche whispered me in a low voice,
"Take it, take it."

I reached out my hand for the purpose, when, just as I had caught the
loaf, with a slight motion of his wrist he disengaged the point of the
weapon, and gave me a scratch on the back of my hand. The gesture I made
called forth a renewed peal of laughing; and I now perceived, from the
little man's triumphant look at his companions, that the whole thing was
intended as an insult. Resolving, however, to go quietly in the matter,
I held out my hand when it was still bleeding, and said,--

"You perceive, sir?"

"Ah, an accident, _morbleu!_, said he, with a careless shrug of his
shoulders, and a half leer of impertinent indifference.

"So is this also," replied I, as, springing up, I seized the sword he
was returning to its scabbard, and smashed the blade across my knee.

"Well done, well done!" cried twenty voices in a breath; while the
whole room rose in a confused manlier to take one side or other in
the contest, several crowding around the little man, whose voice had
suddenly lost its tone of easy impertinence, and was now heard swearing
away, with the most guttural intonation.

"What kind of swordsman are you?" whispered Pioche, in my ear.

"Sufficiently expert to care little for an enemy of his caliber."

"Ah, you don't know that," replied he; "it's Francois, the maitre
d'armes of the Fourth."

"You must not fight him, Monsieur," said mademoiselle, as she laid her
hand on mine, and looked up into my face with a most expressive glance.

"They are waiting for you without, mon lieutenant," said an old
sergeant-major, touching his cap as he spoke.

"Come along," said Pioche, with a deeply-muttered oath; "and, by the
blood of Saint Louis, it shall be the last time Maitre Francois shows
his skill in fence, if I cost them the fire of a platoon