"It has, however, been curtailed an inch since I have had it, and that by reason of its having been used so much. I fear that if I should continue in the same style, it will become a little dagger."
"Stop talking about your prowess, Chaudoreille; I have to speak to you of matters more interesting than that."
"If you will shave me first; I have great need of it. My beard grows twice as quickly at night when I do not sup in the evening."
"It looks as if you had dieted for some days, then."
While the barber prepared everything that was necessary for shaving Chaudoreille, the latter detached his sword. After having looked all over the shop in search of a place in which it seemed convenient to put it, he decided to keep it on his knees; he relieved himself of his cloak, then he took off the faded ruff which surrounded his neck, and abandoned his odd, lean little figure to the cares of Touquet, who came forward bearing a basin and a soapball. The barber began by taking and throwing into a corner of the shop the sword which Chaudoreille was holding on his knees. The chevalier made a movement of despair, crying,—
"What are you doing, unhappy man? You will break Rolande, the sword which Charlemagne's nephew carried."
"If it's such a good blade it won't break. How do you think I can shave you holding that great halberd on your knee?"
"It's necessary to handle it with care at least. Zounds! you are nearly as quick as I am."
"Do you want me to cut your mustaches?"
"No, no,—never. A chevalier without mustaches! What are you thinking of? Do you want people to take me for a young girl?"