"Another requiem and a mass for a departed soul, at the church of St. Géneviève--is it not so, captain? But that is a matter of course." And soon after we reached the dwelling of the captain. The little negro brought us a cold pasty, oysters, and two bottles of _vin d'Artois_. "Such a walk betimes gives an appetite," said the captain, gayly. "How strangely things fall out!" he continued, in a serious tone. "I have long wished to draw the crape-vail from before that picture, for you must know I only deem myself worthy to do so when I have sent some Jacobin or Bonapartist into the other world, to crave pardon from that murdered angel; and so I went yesterday to the coffee-house with my old friend the abbé, whom I knew ever since he was field-preacher to the Chouans, in the hope of finding a victim for the sacrifice among the readers of the liberal journals. The confounded waiters, however, betray my intention; and when I am there, nobody will ask for a radical paper. When you appeared, my worthy friend, I at first thought I had found the right man, and I was impatient--for I had been waiting for more than three hours for a reader of the 'National' or of 'Figaro.' How glad I am that I at once discovered you to be no friend of such infamous papers! How grieved should I be, if I had had to do with you instead of with that young fellow!" For my part, I was in no mood even for self-felicitations. At that time, I was a reckless young fellow, going through the conventionalisms of society without a thought; but the event of the morning had made even me reflect. "Do you think he will die, captain?" I asked. "Is the wound mortal?" "For certain!" he replied, with a slight smile. "I have a knack--of course for Jacobins and Bonapartists only--when I thrust _en quarte_, to draw out the sword by an imperceptible movement of the hand, _en tierce_, or _vice versâ_, according to circumstances; and thus the blade turns in the wound--_and that kills_; for the lung is injured, and mortification is sure to follow." On returning to my hotel, where L---- also was staying, I met the physician, who had just visited him. He gave up all hope. The captain spoke truly, for the slight movement of the hand and the turn of the blade had accomplished their aim, and the lung was injured beyond the power of cure. The next morning early, L---- died. I went to the captain, who was returning home with the abbé. "The abbé has just been to read a mass for him," he said; "it is a benefit which, on such occasions, I am willing he should enjoy--more, however, from friendship for him, than out of pity for the accursed soul of a Jacobin, which in my eyes is worth less than a dog's! But walk in, sir."