"Yes, it is true, papa," broke in Pauline; "the Englishman has spoken the truth."
"C'etait bien fait, c'etait bien fait," said her father; "go on."
"Then," resumed I, "Millefleurs sprang again to his feet, and seized a razor."
"Ha! he seized a razor? Is that so, Monsieur Millefleurs? Did you seize a razor?"
Jacques was silent as before, while I proceeded, "I then seized a chair."
"You seized a chair, hébien!"
"And I knocked the razor out of his hand. He fell to the ground with pain, and yelled."
"Encore, bien fait—après?"
"He jumped up again, and pounced upon me like a tiger, and nearly knocked me over, but I tripped him up in time, and he fell to the ground, together with myself, and then we rolled over and over each other on the floor, till I at length succeeded in extricating myself, and placed my foot upon his neck, when you entered, sir."
"C'est bien vraie," burst in Pauline again; "the Englishman has given an exact account of the quarrel."