'Yes, sir.'
'And have seen service?'
'Yes.'
'You are still in active service?'
'No.' And then, to my great satisfaction, for my patience was well-nigh exhausted, the examination was brought to a conclusion.
Just then, an evil destiny led my three young fellow-travellers into the room. They soon seated themselves at a table, and drank some glasses of champagne to Clotilde's health. All went on well; but when they began to sing the Marseillaise and the Parisienne, the face of the gray man began to twitch, and it was evident a storm was brewing. Calling to the waiter, he said with a loud voice: 'Tell those blackguards yonder not to annoy me with their low songs!'
The young men sprang up in a fury, and asked if it was to them he alluded.
'Whom else should I mean?' said the gray man with a contemptuous sneer.
'But we may drink and sing if we like, and to whom we like,' said the young man. 'Vive la République et vive Clotilde!'
'One as blackguardly as the other!' cried the gray-beard tauntingly; and a wine-glass, that flew at his head from the hand of the dark-haired youth, was the immediate rejoinder. Slowly wiping his forehead, which bled and dripped with the spilled wine, the old man said quite quietly: 'To-morrow, at the Cap Verd!' and seated himself again with the most perfect composure.