delightful
stories, and bring us such charming presents when you come home, and
love us so much while you're in port, because you see so few when you
are away! Now isn't that a delightful _catalogue raisonne_ of
arguments why women should love _les matelots_?"

"Pity then, madame," said I, "that you married a _soldier_."

"Ah!" returned the ready dame, "_I_ didn't;--that was my mother's
match. In France, you know, the old folks marry us; but we take the
liberty to _love_ whomsoever we please!"

"But, what of _Monsieur le capitaine_, in the present instance?"
interrupted I inquiringly.

"Ah! _fi donc!_" said Madame, "what bad taste to speak of an _absent_,
husband when you have the liberty to talk with a _present_ wife!"

In fact, the lovely Helen of this tavern-Troy was the dearest of
coquettes, whose fence of tongue was as beautiful a game of thrust and
parry as I ever saw played with Parisian foils. Du Jean had been
horribly mortified by the contemptuous manner in which the threadbare
Spaniard bore off his imaginary prize; and would probably have
assailed me on the spot, before he knew my temper or quality, had not
the lawyer drawn him aside on a plea of medical advice and given his
inflamed honor time to cool.

But the wit of Madame Duprez was not so satisfied by a single specimen
of our mutual folly, as to allow the surgeon to resume the undisputed
post of _cavaliere serviente_ which he occupied before my arrival. It
was her delight to see us at loggerheads for her favor, and though we
were both aware of her arrant coquetry, neither had moral courage
enough, in that dismal time, to desist from offering the most servile
courtesies. We mined and counter-mined, marched and counter-marched,
deceived and re-deceived, for several days, without material advantage
to either, till, at last, the affair ended in a battle.

The prefecture's bulletin announced at dinner-time twelve hundred
deaths! but, in spite of the horror, or perhaps to drown its memory,
our undiminished party called for several more bottles, and became
uproariously gay.

The conversation took a physiological turn; and gradually the modern
science of phrenology, which was just then becoming fashionable, came
on the carpet. Doctor Du Jean professed familiarity with its
mysteries. Spurzheim, he said, had been his professor in Paris. He
could read our characters on our skulls as if they were written in a
book. Powers, passions, propensities, and even