"What an idea! to blow his brains out when he hadn't a single punishment down on his book!"
It was very evident that they were the Paris Guards from the barracks, just near, waiting until nine o'clock for the roll-call.
"Waiter, a bowl of punch and three glasses," said M. de Villacourt, taking his place at a table where two of the Guards were seated.
When the punch was brought he filled the three glasses, pushed one before each of the Guards, and rose to his feet.
"Your health, gentlemen!" he said, and then lifting his glass he continued: "You are military men—I have to fight to-morrow, and I haven't any one I can ask. I feel sure that you will act as seconds for me."
One of the Guards looked full at M. de Villacourt, and then turned to his comrade.
"We may as well, Gaillourdot; what do you say?"
The other did not reply, but picking up his glass touched M. de Villacourt's with it.
"Well then, to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. Room 27."