CHAPTER IV
IN BEAUTY’S QUARREL
My young cock-a-hoop and I being left facing each other on the pavement of the court, he said to me, with a terrific scowl in his handsome bright young face:
“Who are you, sir?”
“Babache,” said I. “Captain of Uhlans in the body-guard of Count Saxe.”
“Well, Babache,” continues my young man, twirling his snuff-box as he had probably seen some older man do, “you were infernally in my way just now.”
“Was I?” answered I. “Why did you not tell me at the time? I would have gone and jumped into the Seine—” and as I spoke, I flipped the snuff-box out of his hand. I never saw a youngster in a greater rage. Like Mademoiselle Capello, a minute before, he hated to be treated like a child.
“Sir,” said he, “you shall eat your words.”
“Sir,” I replied, “I have supped already; and besides, I never had any appetite for that dish.”
With that he whipped out his sword, and I said, holding up my hand: