"Why, Massa Mole, we been good friends dis long time in dat 'ere ole prison; you isn't a-gwine to turn round on de poor niggahs now we's got out."
"Get away. Never mind, don't get away; I'm not proud—hurrah!"
In his excitement Mr. Mole threw his battered hat a great height into the air, but slipping while so doing, he sat down upon the pavement rather violently.
"Sac-r-r-r-ré! seize that old villain!"
The indignant command came from a mounted officer in charge of a considerable body of soldiers.
While directing the movements of his men, drawn sword in hand, down came Mole's chapeau on the point of the deadly weapon, which went through the crown, and the lining getting entangled with the hilt, it could not be very readily moved.
And, of course, the French spectators at once began laughing to see the rather absurd situation of the officer.
Mole would certainly have been dragged off again had not the British consul once more interposed.
"Monsieur le Colonel, I hasten to assure you that it was an accident," he said.
"I will not be insulted by accident; arrest him!"