"'More tost! Ah, it ess ze dinnaire—must be ze dinnaire,' mumbled the old Frenchman.
"The toast and tea disposed of, we rose and paid our bill. We were about to leave the restaurant, when the old Frenchman quitted the table, as if for the purpose of having a parting shot at us. Just as we were stepping into the street, he tapped me on the shoulder, and making a polite bow, said, 'Sare, if you please, was zat your breakfast or your dinnaire?'
"This seemed too much for human nature to bear, and without thinking exactly what I was about, I threw my glove into his face.
"'Sare, what you mean? An insult?'
"'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'and another, if you like. We have stood your impertinence for the last half-hour. You are no gentleman.'
"'Sare? No gentleman? Zare is my card!'
"'And there is mine,' said the Doctor.
"'One at a time, my friends,' coolly replied the old man. 'My business is wiz zis young gentleman first. He has struck me wiz his glove! He must fight.'
"'Agreed,' said the Doctor. 'Send your friend to me. I shall be happy to assist this young gentleman, and to fight you myself afterwards.'
"'One moment, gentlemen. My friend, Colonel Monier, now at yonder table, will confer wiz you;' and the old fellow called to his friend.