I had not twenty minutes to stay, having to be back at the barracks, or risk a reprimand, which, happily, the checked _peignoir_ had cooled me sufficiently to enable me to recollect. So I took my farewell--one not unlike Medora's and Conrad's, Fitzhervey and Guatamara having kindly withdrawn as soon as the bottled porter was finished--and I went out of the house in a very blissful state, despite Guinness and the unwelcome demi-toilette, which did not accord with Eugène Sue's and the Parlor Library's description of the general getting-up and stunning appearance of heroines and peeresses, "reclining, in robes of cloud-like tissue and folds of the richest lace, on a cabriole couch of amber velvet, while the air was filled with the voluptuous perfume of the flower-children of the South, and music from unseen choristers lulled the senses with its divinest harmony," &c., &c., &c. Bottled porter and a checked dressing-gown! Say what you like, sirs, it takes a very strong passion to overcome _those_. I have heard men ascribe the waning of their affections after the honeymoon to the constant sight of their wives--whom before they had only seen making papa's coffee with an angelic air and a toilette _tirée à quatre épingles_--everlastingly coming down too late for breakfast in a dressing-gown; and, upon my soul, if ever I marry, which Heaven in pitiful mercy forfend! and my wife make her appearance in one of those confounded _peignoirs_, I will give that much-run-after and deeply-to-be-pitied public character, the Divorce Judge, some more work to do--I will, upon my honor. However, the _peignoir_ had not iced me enough that time to prevent my tumbling out of the house in as delicious an ecstasy as if I had been eating some of Monte Cristo's "hatchis." As I went out, not looking before me, I came bang against the chest of somebody else, who, not admiring the rencontre, hit my cap over my eyes, and exclaimed, in not the most courtly manner you will acknowledge, "You cursed owl, take that, then! What are you doing here, I should like to know?" "Confound your impudence!" I retorted, as soon as my ocular powers were restored, and I saw the blue eyes, fair curls, and smart figure of my ancient Iolaüs, now my bitterest foe--"confound your impertinence! what are _you_ doing here? you mean." "Take care, and don't ask questions about what doesn't concern you," returned Little Grand, with a laugh--a most irritating laugh. There are times when such cachinnations sting one's ears more than a volley of oaths. "Go home and mind your own business, my chicken. You are a green bird, and nobody minds you, but still you'll find it as well not to come poaching on other men's manors." "Other men's manors! Mine, if you please," I shouted, so mad with him I could have floored him where he stood.