ibly be more easy and
unconstrained than the tone of their conversation, as they chatted away
about the prospect beneath, and over which, like a gauzy veil, the gray
shadow of dawn was hanging. With the exception of an Italian or two,
they were all French, the young fashionables who were the loungers of
the salons and cafes of the city.

"Have you breakfasted, my Lord?" said one. "If not, let me recommend
some excellent cutlets, which are not too cold, even yet."

"And the best chocolate I ever tasted out of Paris," cried another.

"Thanks," said Norwood. "We 'll profit by the good counsel." And, taking
a cigar from his case, he lighted it from Guilmard's, as, with hands in
his paletot, he sat negligently on the wall, surveying the scene below
him.

"Come, George, let's have something," whispered Norwood, eagerly;
for the vacant and unoccupied stare of Onslow continued to cause the
Viscount the most intense anxiety. "These fellows are affecting to be
devilish cool. Let us not be behindhand." And, rather by force than mere
persuasion, he dragged Onslow along, and entered the little parlor of
the inn.

A large table, covered with the remains of an ample breakfast, stood
in the middle of the room, and a dish of cutlets was placed to keep hot
before the stove. Several loose sheets of paper lay scattered about the
table, on which were scrawled absurd and ill-drawn caricatures of duels,
in which attitudes of extravagant fear and terror predominated. Norwood
glanced at them for a moment, and then contemptuously threw them into
the fire.

"Sit down, George," said he, placing a chair for the other; "and, if
you cannot eat, at least take a 'nip' of brandy. Jekyl will be up, I
suppose, in a few minutes. I told him to come with the doctor."

"I never felt an appetite at this early hour," said Onslow; "and perhaps
the present is not the time to suggest one."

"Did you remark Guilmard?" said Norwood, as he helped himself to a
cutlet, and prepared his plate most artistically for a savory meal. "Did
you observe him, George?"

"No; I never looked that way."

"By Jove! he has got a tremendous scar on his cheek; the whole length,
from the eye to the corner of his mouth. English knuckles do not
certainly improve French physiognomy. A left-hander, eh?"

"I remember nothing about it," said Onslow, carelessly.

"Well, you 've left him a memorandum of the transaction, any way,"
said the Viscount, as he ate on. "And you were talk