"What I would say, brave Nimrod, is that I have the appearance of a beggar, in that my coat and shoes, which yesterday were almost new, are to-day abominably tattered and appear at least six months old."
"Six months? Oh! they are devilishly older than that to all appearances, my brother."
"All which proves how torrid your devilish sun is; in one day it has faded my clothing which yesterday was the freshest sea-green, the most tender and coquettish of colors, until now——"
"They are almost mould-green," said the buccaneer. "It is like your shoulder-strap—our devouring sun eats gold until he leave but a red thread."
"What signifies the shoulder-strap if the sword is free and strong from the scabbard?" said Croustillac proudly. Then softening his tones, he continued, "It is just because I am momentarily in an outfit unworthy my rank, that I would inquire if I can find garments more suitable at Devil's Cliff?"
"Ah, do you think that Blue Beard keeps a second-hand clothing establishment?" said the buccaneer.
"Heaven forbid that I should accuse her of such an ignoble traffic! But, in fine, it would not be surprising if, as I say, by chance, there had been overlooked in some corner of a clothes-press some garments belonging to one of the deceased husbands of our charming friend?"
"Ah!" said the buccaneer.
"Well?" replied the chevalier imperturbably, "although it would cost me an effort to appear in what did not belong to me, and above all, in what could not fit me very well, I would reconcile myself to so doing, in default of my fine clothing now at St. Pierre, even at the risk of being abominably disfigured, perhaps, by the chance garments," continued he disdainfully.
The buccaneer broke into peals of laughter at the singular notion of his companion. Croustillac colored with annoyance and said, "Zounds! you are very facetious, my friend."