"Ha! is that so?" asked Le Chauve. "Hébien! Monsieur Jacques, you have refused to apologise to the Englishman for insulting him and kicking him in the eye. Now, I command you to apologise to him, or out of my shop you shall go at once. Do you hear?"
"Non; mille fois non!" cried Jacques, stamping with rage, forgetful alike of the respect due to his master and the presence of Pauline, "I would sooner die first."
"Then prepare at once to leave my house. Take up your bundle and walk!"
The peremptory manner in which these words were said caused Jacques to pause and weigh matters.
"If my employer actually does send me off," he probably said to himself, "then adieu to Pauline for ever, but if I consent to apologise, I shall remain here, and may in time succeed in cutting out the Englishman."
This was probably his mode of reasoning, for he was too good a politician not to know where his interests lay, so changing his tone entirely, and gulping down with difficulty something that was rising in his throat, and which, if he had given expression to, would probably have resembled an ingenious French oath, he replied with great apparent calmness,
"Monsieur Le Chauve, you have always been a good master to me, and I have always tried to prove myself worthy of your kindness, and I should be sorry to leave you for a trifle, therefore I will obey you, and will demand pardon of mon cher confrere l'anglais, for having in a moment of ungovernable passion kicked him in the eye, and insulted him."
This was said in turning towards me, and in all humility.
"And you, Monsieur Suds, if you forgive him, offer him your hand."
I extended my hand towards my fellow assistant, which he took in his, and I expressed sorrow for the part I had had in the quarrel, but I noticed that the hand of Jacques Millefleurs was icy cold.