"Allons mes enfants," said Le Chauve, "now don't let me hear any more of these silly quarrels, but go in peace."
We both set about our respective duties, but I knew enough of the Frenchman's character to be sure that his apology did not come from his heart, but had been forced out of him from motives of policy, and I was not at all sure that this would be the last of such quarrels, but had no doubt that he would vent his petty spite upon me on the very next opportunity.
I had hardly re-settled myself, and proceeded with my wig, when a stranger of dignified appearance entered and demanded to be shaved. I had no difficulty in recognising in him a countryman. Glad of an opportunity of speaking English again after so long, I answered him in his own mother tongue.
"Want to be shaved, sir? Yes, sir."
"Ah, you are English!" he said.
"Yes, sir, one of the latest imported," said I. "Only arrived here a month ago to perfect myself in the art of barber-craft amongst these foreigners. Served under Mr. Hackchin in the village of D——, in ——shire, where I have learnt to shave, cut hair, make wigs, mix hair grease, and all the rest of it, and as for tooth drawing, bleeding, and quack salving, you won't find the likes of me in all the countryside. My name is Suds, sir, at your service. Maybe you have heard tell of my father or my grandfather. The Suds have been barbers from time immemorial."
"Oh, indeed?" said the stranger. Then muttered to himself, "Suds—Suds—I fancy I have heard the name before."
And I should just think he had, gentlemen. Why, my grandfather once shaved His Majesty King George I., or George II., or Queen Anne, or one of that lot, I forget which, as my father used to tell me.
Well, gentlemen, when I had got my countryman fairly lathered, and had commenced operations, I noticed that he glanced half-quizzingly at my eye, which was now black and swollen from the kick I had received from my adversary.
"You seem to have a bad cold in your eye, Mr. Suds," he remarked, with an ill-repressed smile.