“That’s a lie!” said the metaphysician, for the wine had gotten a little into his head.
“Very well!—very well, sir!—very well, indeed, sir!” said his Majesty, apparently much flattered.
“That’s a lie!” repeated the restaurateur, dogmatically; “that’s a—hiccup!—a lie!”
“Well, well, have it your own way!” said the devil, pacifically, and Bon-Bon, having beaten his Majesty at argument, thought it his duty to conclude a second bottle of Chambertin.
“As I was saying,” resumed the visitor—“as I was observing a little while ago, there are some very outré notions in that book of yours Monsieur Bon-Bon. What, for instance, do you mean by all that humbug about the soul? Pray, sir, what is the soul?”
“The—hiccup!—soul,” replied the metaphysician, referring to his MS., “is undoubtedly—”
“No, sir!”
“Indubitably—”
“No, sir!”
“Indisputably—”