"Most certainly I do. Have I not said that it is not loaded?"
"And have I not said," says the impudent Cynthia, "that you don't know whether it's loaded or not?"
"But, my dear child," says I, "have I not positively said that the thing's not loaded?"
"Oh yes, I admit that," says the provoking creature. "But you must admit too, sir, that I have more faith in my own judgment than I have in yours. I say again that you don't know whether that pistol is loaded or whether it is not."
"I'll lay you two to one in hundreds that I do," says I hotly.
"Would not a case of iron pistols against the sum of twelvepence halfpenny be more appropriate in the circumstances?" says Cynthia.
"I believe you are right there," says I.
Cynthia then presented the pistol at the wall and a strange thing happened. The room was filled with a reverberating crash, and when the smoke that arose had lifted a little it was discovered that a large mirror had been shivered into a thousand pieces.
"There," says Cynthia triumphantly.
As for me, I stood aghast for a moment, perfectly at a loss to explain the pistol's strange behaviour. Then I suddenly broke out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter; the admirable François had loaded them both.