He sat, gay as he looked, surrounded by lights and such flowers as the early season furnished; a burning pastille poured out a thick unctuous stream of perfume; fruits were on the table by his elbow, and in companionship beside them slender bottles of sparkling wine. He had a sensuous appreciation of the beautiful, had our friend; but not a selfish, for he did not sit alone. At his feet, curled like a hedgehog on a luxurious mat, snored Pat, the foundling dog, a half-eaten bone held between his paws. Pat had evidently fallen upon pleasant lines; he was plump and sleek as an incipient alderman after his seven days' good treatment, and now, as aspirants to the dignity of the fur collar and the rapture of turtle-soup are wont, he was enjoying the snooze of satisfaction after the repast of repletion. Then, again, another of our acquaintances was present. Stiff and stately, as a bare old oak in winter, on the opposite side of the fire, sat Captain Chauvin--white-bearded, the chocolate-coloured ribbon on his breast, his stick held bolt upright between his legs--a figure of dignity and firmness in the frivolous air of this bachelor-chamber in gala; yet, somehow, he did not look out of place. There was sweetness in the old man's face, and benevolence and truth, which is beautiful everywhere. 'You do not smoke, captain--you a _militaire_ of the First Empire. I wonder at that,' said O'Hara, languidly puffing the light cloud upwards in fantastic wreath from his Havana. 'No, _mon enfant_; there is a reason for it,' and the captain sighed. O'Hara finished his cigar in peace--not that he did not notice the sigh of his guest, but he had too much delicacy to seek to fathom its cause. 'At least,' he said when he resumed conversation, 'you will not refuse to join me in a bumper.' The captain shook his head. 'It is the first time I've caught you at my fireside, Captain Chauvin, and in my land we account it the reverse of good-fellowship not to hobnob at such a meeting. We shall drink together, as the Arabs break bread, to friendship and better knowledge of each other.' The captain smiled--how charming is a smile on the face of manly masculine age!--and bowed. 'As it is the custom of your land, and as it is to be a gage of friendship, I even will,' said he, at the same time proffering a worn snuff-box, rudely wrought of horn, which he drew out of a gold case. '_Mon enfant_, a pinch.' O'Hara took of the snuff, though he found some difficulty in performing the operation of conveying the dust to his nostrils, sniffing it and afterwards sneezing. To tell the truth, he did not take snuff, considering it a dirty habit; but he felt constrained to do much to gratify the old man. 'Hola, you sneeze!' remarked the captain, surprised. 'It's rare fine snuff.' 'And that's a rare fine box you have it in; not the box, I mean, but the casket which holds it,' answered O'Hara, taking the gold case in his hands.