It was easy to perceive that he had suffered much and long. His person partook of the military rigidity of his countenance, the blue coat he wore over a white waistcoat buttoning to the throat, with nankeen pantaloons, and buckled shoes, indicated a fashion long gone by, and its well-brushed surface, though worn, presented to the eye a tout ensemble which claimed the respect of the stranger. In a word, there existed between the unknown and the major so many points of resemblance, that it required the blind aversion which had taken possession of the latter to prevent a feeling of the warmest sympathy springing up between him and his antagonist: but far from perceiving these symptoms of a poverty noble and proud in his rival, and which should have inclined him to stretch out the arms of a brother rather than those of an enemy, the descendant of the Phalsbourgs, blinded with rage, could scarce recover himself sufficiently to salute the stranger with a touch of his beaver of very sinister augury. The unknown returned the salutation with much urbanity and self-possession. M. Anspach, this duty to politeness performed, mechanically as it were, drew his hat down over his eyes and made a step forward. At this gesture his rival smiled, and looked around him as if to make his visiter comprehend that it was impossible from the narrowness of his quarters to offer him hospitality. M. Anspach observing this pantomime, smiled also, but it was a bitter smile. He made increditable efforts to recover his voice. “I believe I see in you a lover of the Tuileries,” observed he of the blue coat, bowing gracefully, “and that you have come, like myself, to enjoy here the fine weather?” “It is three months since I have enjoyed it, sir,” the choking major answered, rolling his eyes. “True—I have remarked your absence.” “Ah!” growled M. Anspach de Phalsbourg. That “_ah!_” was a little fiendish. “You appear to suffer,” rejoined he of the blue coat, “and are fatigued,” he added, without offering, however, to yield his seat. “You are right,” replied the major, all at once recovering the use of his epiglottis. “Yes, sir! I _am_ fatigued—no one was ever more fatigued.” The major made a pause as if gathering himself up for an encounter—then stepping up boldly under the very nose of his adversary, continued: “Hear me, my very _dear_ sir. I have not the honor to know you, but I take you to be an honorable man; besides, your exterior pleases me; you suit me well, and I should be pleased if you will permit me the honor of cutting your throat.” The blue coat drew back in astonishment, mingled with fright; he began to think he had to deal with an insane person, but the major, interpreting the movement, continued—