"I say I don't want to sell the pictures!" cried the other, at the top of his voice.
"By gar! c'est drole!" exclaimed the Frenchman, his eye beginning to flash with passion. "It is one strange circumstance, parbleu! I ask you vat you do viz ze pictair, and you say you take 'em to sell 'em, and zen you vill not sell 'em! Vat you mean, sare—hein?"
"I mean what I say," replied the other sharply. "I don't want to sell the engravings, and I didn't say I did."
"Morbleu!" sputtered monsieur, in a tone loud enough to attract the attention of those of his fellow-travellers who were not already listening; "morbleu! you mean to say I 'ave not any ear? Non, monsieur, by gar I hear ver' well vat you tell me. You say you sell ze pictair. Is it because I one Frenchman, zat you will not sell me ze pictair?"
The irritated gentleman, hoping to rid himself of the annoyance, turned his back upon his assailant, and made no reply.
But monsieur was not to be put off thus. He laid his hand on the shoulder of the other, and, showing his small white teeth, exclaimed,—
"Sacristie! monsieur, zis is too muche. You've give me one insult, and I shall 'ave satisfaction." Still no reply. "By gar, monsieur," continued the Frenchman, "you are not one gentleman. I shall call you one poltroon—vat you call 'em?—coward!"
"What do you mean?" retorted the other, afraid the affair was beginning to get serious. "I haven't insulted you, sir."
"Pardonnez, monsieur; but it is one grand insult! In America, perhaps not; but in France, one blow your brains out."
"For what, pray?"