ermittent periods, when they were bosom friends
again, that, on a certain evening, they were playing cards together. The
stakes were high for them, for each had a little money just then, the
result of the sale of some fancy work of theirs, at which they were very
clever, though they did not often condescend to take the trouble. Malin
had made the model of a guillotine out of a beef bone, and Poivre some
dominoes, dice, and box of similar material.

The luck, as we say, had run all along in favour of Poivre. Malin was
becoming savage. He lost all his money, then his next day's rations,
then his shirt (not worth much). Poivre was one of those gamblers who
take infernal delight in heaping on the agony when their opponent loses
his temper badly. He made the other furious by pretending to pity him
for his ill-fortune; and when he got down to the shirt, calmly suggested
whether there was not something else he had that he might stake in order
to regain his luck.

"You'd take my soul," cried Malin, with an oath so loud and frightful, or
rather such a volley of them, that the other men in the room came
crowding around them.

"Not worth anything," replied Poivre; "can't see it."

"It's worth as much as yours."

"That's not saying much."

The atmosphere was thick with oaths, and as oaths and devils go together,
the atmosphere must have been of a sulphureous nature, as it always is at
such times, though we may not notice it.

"Don't talk to me, _poltron_!" cried Malin.

"That's the second time you have called me so," said Poivre, starting up,
his temper rising at a bound to "stormy," and shaking his fist at the
other.

"And not the last!" shouted Malin, glad to find the other as angry as
himself. "I tell you, you are a _poltron_, before all these gentlemen.
You have no more courage than a rabbit, and no more spirit than an old
woman. You ran away at Talavera. You did all you could to make us
afraid the night before we struck for liberty. You--"

"Liar!" screamed Poivre: "to-morrow I will prove it on your great big
carcase. Valentin, my friend, come with me."

A gentleman of not very prepossessing appearance responded to the call.

Most of the prisoners were delighted. It was the prospect of a little
amusement, of which they did not enjoy much.

The formalities of a duel were gone through with the utmost possible
punctilio. The seconds arranged that, as there were no swords to be had,
the principals shou