“Come, draw the sword which you flourished to so little purpose to-day, and you will find I can pay in the only coin a soldier should demand or take.
“What! Not ready yet? Would you have me produce my commission as an officer, or establish my right to arms, before you can cross swords with me? By God, sir! I will stand no more of your precious fooling. Do you think you are going to roar out at me in public like some scurvy shopkeeper, and then stand like a stock-fish when I do you the honour to ask your pleasure? Draw, sir, draw, before I am forced to strike you like a coward!”
To my amazement, instead of answering my words as they deserved, he threw up his hands with a weak cry and covered his face.
Supposing him to be wounded, I melted in a moment, and, stepping forward, held out my hand to him.
“Come, sir, come! You are unnerved. Tell me, are you hit?”
As I spake I still advanced to support him, and was surprised beyond measure when the supposed officer retreated before me and cried, in a voice of intense womanish entreaty, “No, no; do not touch me!”
I burst out laughing. “'Pon my soul, madam! you came near being somewhat late, with your embargo, and you have betrayed me into an exhibition of the vilest humour, for which I most humbly apologise.”
She seemed somewhat uncertain how to take my drolling, whereupon I changed my tone, and asked, with every appearance of curiosity, “May I inquire how I can be of service to you?”
“Am I within the French lines?”