," added Francis, who was formerly a trumpeter in the
9th Lancers, Mora's and Monpavon's regiment, "I beg your pardon. Twenty
years ago or more I was in barracks at the Ecole Militaire, and I
remember very well that there was near the barrier a dirty little
dance-house called the Bal Jansoulet, with furnished rooms upstairs at
five sous the hour, to which we used to adjourn between dances."

"You're an infernal liar!" cried M. Noel, fairly beside himself; "a
sharper and liar like your master. Jansoulet never came to Paris until
this time."

Francis was sitting a little outside of the circle we made around the
"marquise," sipping something sweet, because champagne is bad for his
nerves, and besides, it is not a _chic_ enough drink for him. He rose
solemnly, without putting down his glass, and, walking up to M. Noel,
said to him, quietly:

"You lack good form, my dear fellow. The other evening, at your own
house, I considered your manners very vulgar and unbecoming. It serves
no purpose to insult people, especially as I'm a fencing-master, and, if
we should carry the thing any farther, I could put two inches of cold
steel into your body at whatever point I chose; but I am a good sort of
fellow, and instead of a sword-thrust I prefer to give you some advice
which your master will do well to profit by. This is what I would do if
I were in your place; I would hunt up Moessard and buy him without
haggling over the price. Hemerlingue has given him twenty thousand
francs to speak, I would offer him thirty thousand to hold his tongue."

"Never, never!" roared M. Noel. "Instead of that I will go and wring the
miserable bandit's neck."

"You will wring nothing at all. Whether the story is true or false, you
have seen the effect of it to-night. That's a specimen of the pleasures
in store for you. What do you expect, my dear fellow? You have thrown
away your crutches and tried to walk alone too soon. That's all right if
you're sure of yourself and firm on your legs; but when your footing is
not very good anyway, and in addition you are unlucky enough to have
Hemerlingue at your heels, it's a bad business. And with it all your
master's beginning to be short of money; he has given notes to old
Schwalbach, and don't talk to me of a Nabob who gives notes. I am well
aware that you have heaps of millions over yonder in Tunis; but you will
have to have your election confirmed in order to get possession of them,
and after a few more ar