It seemed the best way; indeed the only way. Gaspard Volauvent could never get to the rendezvous alone, and it would be fatal to his honour if Jacques arrived there and found nobody to meet him. Reluctantly Blanchaille agreed.
At the appointed hour Gaspard put his head cautiously out of his bedroom window and gazed up into the heavens. He saw two aeroplanes straight above him. At the thought that he might have been in one of them he shuddered violently. Indeed, he felt so unwell that the need for some slight restorative became pressing. He tripped off to the estaminet.
It was empty save for one table. Gaspard walked towards it, hoping for a little conversation. The occupant lowered the newspaper from in front of his face and looked up.
It was too much for Gaspard.
"Coward!" he shrieked.
Jacques, who had been going to say the same thing, hastily substituted
"Serpent!"
"I know you," cried Gaspard. "You send your instructor up in your place.
Poltroon!"
Jacques picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over his friend's head.
"Drown, serpent," he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with Jacques' paper, and leant over him.