icle we were not farther on than at the beginning. We
tried certainly to wink at each other, to pretend to be clever; but,
frankly, we had no reason. A veritable puzzle without solution; and we
should still be stuck fast at it if old Francis, a regular rascal who
knows everything, had not explained to us that this meeting place of
the soldiers must stand for the Military School, and that the "boat of
flowers" did not bear so pretty a name as that in good French. And this
name, he said it aloud notwithstanding the presence of the ladies.
There was an explosion of cries, of "Ah's!" and "Oh's!" some saying, "I
suspected it!" others, "It is impossible!"

"Pardon me," added Francis, formerly a trumpeter in the Ninth
Lancers--the regiment of Mora and of Monpavon--"pardon me. Twenty years
ago, during the last half year of my service, I was in barracks in the
Military School, and I remember very well that near the fortifications
there was a dirty dancing-hall known as the Jansoulet Rooms, with a
little furnished flat above and bedrooms at twopence-halfpenny the hour,
to which one could retire between two quadrilles."

"You are an infamous liar!" said M. Noel, beside himself with rage--"a
thief and a liar like your master. Jansoulet has never been in Paris
before now."

Francis was seated a little outside our circle engaged in sipping
something sweet, because champagne has a bad effect on his nerves and
because, too, it is not a sufficiently distinguished beverage for him.
He rose gravely, without putting down his glass, and, advancing towards
M. Noel, said to him very quietly:

"You are wanting in manners, _mon cher_. The other evening I found
your tone coarse and unseemly. To insult people serves no good purpose,
especially in this case, since I happen to have been an assistant to a
fencing-master, and, if matters were carried further between us, could
put a couple of inches of steel into whatever part of your body I might
choose. But I am good-natured. Instead of a sword-thrust, I prefer to
give you a piece of advice, which your master will do well to follow.
This is what I should do in your place: I should go and find Moessard,
and I should buy him, without quibbling about price. Hemerlingue has
given him twenty thousand francs to speak; I would offer him thirty
thousand to hold his tongue."

"Never! never!" vociferated M. Noel. "I should rather go and knock the
rascally brigand's head off."

"You will do nothing of t