Pichegru drew his pistols from his belt and laid one on either side of his plate.
"General," said the pretended clerk, laughing, "I hope those are not your cards that you are laying on the table."
"Have the goodness to put my pistols on the mantel-shelf, since you are nearer to it than I am," replied Pichegru, "they are not comfortable in my belt." And he pushed his pistols within the other's reach, who carried them to the mantel-shelf and returned to his seat.
Pichegru bowed slightly and the other did the same.
"Now," said Pichegru, "let us begin."
"I am waiting."
"What is your name?"
"Fauche-Borel."
"Where do you come from?"