“Yes, that he is,” interrupted Pioche; “and here is the materiel;”—with which he displayed his pannier of bottles, and pointed to the spoils which, following his directions, I carried in my hands.
The corporal having despatched the fowls to the kitchen, proceeded to arrange a little table at a short distance from where mademoiselle sat,—an arrangement, I could perceive, which called forth some rather angry looks from those around the room, and I could overhear more than one muttered Sacre! as to the ambitious pretensions of the “gros Pioche.”
He himself paid little if any attention to these signs of discontent, but seemed wholly occupied in perfecting the table arrangements, which he did with the skill and despatch of a tavern waiter.
“Here, mon lieutenant, this is your place,” said he, with a bow, as he placed a chair for me at the head of the board; and then, with a polite obeisance to the lady, he added, “Avec permission, Mademoiselle,” and took his own seat at the side.
A very appetizing dish made its appearance at this moment; and notwithstanding my curiosity to watch the proceedings of the party, and my admiration for mademoiselle herself, hunger carried the day, and I was soon too deeply engaged in the discussion of my supper to pay much attention to aught else. It was just then that, forgetting where I was, and unmindful that I was not enjoying the regular fare of an inn, I called out, as if to the waiter, for “bread.” A roar of laughter ran through the room at my mistake, when a dark-whiskered little fellow, in an undress frock, stuck his small sword into a loaf, and handed it to me from the table where he sat.
There was something in the act which rather puzzled me, and might have continued longer to do so, had not Pioche whispered me in a low voice, “Take it, take it.”
I reached out my hand for the purpose, when, just as I had caught the loaf, with a slight motion of his wrist he disengaged the point of the weapon, and gave me a scratch on the back of my hand. The gesture I made called forth a renewed peal of laughing; and I now perceived, from the little man's triumphant look at his companions, that the whole thing was intended as an insult. Resolving, however, to go quietly in the matter, I held out my hand when it was still bleeding, and said,—
“You perceive, sir?”
“Ah, an accident, morbleu!, said he, with a careless shrug of his shoulders, and a half leer of impertinent indifference.
“So is this also,” replied I, as, springing up, I seized the sword he was returning to its scabbard, and smashed the blade across my knee.