The breakfast put them all--even the surgeon--into good humour. O'Hara knew how to draw up a bill of fare, and O'Hoolohan had given him _carte blanche_ as to the outlay. There was everything at the repast, in season and out of season, that could be had for money--truffles of Perigord, melons of Cavaillon, oysters of Cancale, Montmorency cherries, and Montreuil peaches, beside vintage and viands generous of quality and copious in quantity. When the repast was finished, and the customary _demi-tasses_ of black Mocha, with the small glasses of liqueur beside, were laid upon the table, O'Hara gravely stood up in his place at the head, which had been tacitly conceded to him, and demanded the word--the French parliamentary equivalent for asking permission to make a speech. The permission was cordially granted by word of mouth from those whose mouths were empty, by token of assent from those who were still cracking nuts or coaxing tobacco into vaporous circulation. 'Messieurs,' he began, 'having satisfied honour and our appetites, I claim a few words on behalf of common-sense and conservatism. Firstly, I am a Conservative--that is to say, I am tenacious of traditions among other things; and it is a tradition of my country never to loose a chance of making a speech. Several of my relatives carried the habit to such an extent that they made public discourses on their dying day--discourses which were discourteously interrupted by vile public functionaries. (Emotion.) Messieurs, you who are not vile, and who are not public functionaries, and, indeed, who are never likely to be public functionaries--you, I trust, will not interrupt me. (Cries of 'No, no.') I was sure of it. You yourselves are disciples of this great art of oratory. You cultivate it at the risk of coryza over the newly-filled graves of dead friends. (Here Blue Spectacles and Pale Face winced.) Much as I admire eloquence, I am sincerely glad that there was no occasion for rhetorical display of that kind this morning, and this it is which brings me to the common-sense side of my subject. Messieurs, in the light of pure common-sense, I have a proposition to lay before you. It is this:--We are all asses. (Astonishment and attention.) Asses, if not worse, I repeat. If either of the principals in this morning's work were to have killed the other, he would be now a homicidal ass, and that other would be that very rare animal--a dead ass. (Sensation.) As I should be one of the accessories, I refrain from dwelling on what their position would be. Messieurs, the duello is a folly--nay, more, it is a crime. What does it prove? Not that the survivor is truer or better than the slaughtered, but that he is luckier, or more skilful, or has less command of the nerves that are in him, not of himself so much as of nature. Both of you, gentlemen (addressing the Gascon and O'Hoolohan), have good command of nerves. Let me hope in the future you will have better command of temper.