"No, sir," I replied, "it is not exactly that."
"Not a cold!" exclaimed he, feigning astonishment. "Dear me! it's very like one. Then if I might venture to guess, I should say you had been in a fight, and got the worst of it."
"Well, not exactly, sir," said I; "not the worst of it; no, not the worst of it. It is true I had a slight difference of opinion this morning with a young man of the shop, a mere trifle—an affair of jealousy, that's all, sir."
"And I presume that that neat little baggage in the corner of the shop with the jimp waist and well starched cap was the fair cause of this trifling jealousy—am I right?"
"Well, really, sir, your penetration is such that it serves not to deny it," said I. "If you had only arrived five minutes earlier, you would have caught me at it tooth and nail. Oh! it was fine, sir. He caught me a kick in the eye unawares—French fashion you know, sir. Englishmen don't like that sort of game, it takes them by surprise; but you should have seen how I floored him with a good English blow in the chest that made him measure his length upon the ground. You should have heard what a whack his head came against the floor. It sounded for all the world like an empty cask. It will ache for him this next fortnight to come, I'll warrant."
"Oh! then England wasn't thrashed after all?" said he.
"Not a bit of it," said I, proudly.
"Well, you seem a smart lad," said he. "I don't mind giving you a job to do every morning during my stay in Paris. Suppose you come every morning to my hotel to shave me."
"With pleasure, sir," said I.
"Here is my address," said he, handing me a card.