Second, the recent loss of an eye, an unfortunate loss indicated by a large black patch, and caused, no doubt, by some similar mishap. In spite of these rather grave injuries to his personal charms, M. Segoffin held his head as high as ever. A long white cravat, decorated with bright red polka dots, encircled his throat; his long redingote and knee-breeches were of the finest brown broadcloth, and his black stockings were of silk. In his right hand, from which two fingers were missing,--two fingers carelessly lost, as he declared, from having been caught in a piece of machinery,--he carried a heavy cane, for he was quite lame now, in consequence of another accident,--at least, so he said. On seeing Segoffin, Dame Roberts, in spite of the taunts with which she had pursued him for so many years, made no attempt to conceal her pleasure. In the delight his return caused her, she did not notice, at first, that Segoffin was all the while endeavouring to present only his profile, or as nearly a three-quarter view of his face as possible, to the object of his affections. The fact is, he wished to defer the explanation of the recent loss of his eye until the latest possible moment, but the lady, on going a little closer to him, noticed the disfiguring patch, and exclaimed: "Good Heavens! what is the matter with your eye, Segoffin?" "Which eye?" "Why, your right eye." "My right eye?" "Yes. Why do you wear that big black patch over it?" "I know." "I should suppose that you did. As for me, I am afraid to guess what the matter is." "Nonsense! guess away." "You have lost an eye." "There is no undoing that which is done." "I declare, since monsieur went into business and took you for his clerk, there is many a soldier at the Invalides that isn't half as much battered up as you are. How on earth did you lose your eye?" "The fact is, my sight has been failing for some time past, so I decided to put on spectacles. I went to purchase a pair. It was at Lyons. Ah, that rascally optician!" exclaimed Segoffin, shaking his fist in a sort of retrospective rage. "Calm yourself, Segoffin, and go on with your story." "It was a splendid day, and the optician's shop stood in a blaze of sunlight on the Quai du Rhone, my dear,--in a blaze of sunlight, remember that." "What difference does that make?" "A vast amount of difference. I asked to try some spectacles. The scoundrel handed me a pair. I put them on my nose. Just at that moment loud screams were heard on the quay, and curiosity naturally caused me to run to the door." "Of course." "I ran to the door, I say, with the spectacles still on my nose, and I was looking all around, first to the right, then to the left, to see where the cries came from, when, happening to look up, I had very much the same feeling in my right eye as if the ball had been pierced by a red-hot iron." "Good Heavens! what caused it?"