"I went into a public house one day," he said; "I had ridden horseback six leagues without dismounting, and was naturally very tired. I walked into the common-room, and threw myself into an easy-chair near the fireplace. But as I sat down, a piercing shriek escaped me. Everybody crowded around me: 'What is it, monsieur? what's the matter? what has happened to you?'--But I could only point to my posterior, saying: 'I don't know what I sat down on, but I am wounded--badly wounded!'--The hostess wanted to look and see what it was--she wanted to dress the wound. She was a bright-eyed hussy, with a buxom figure. I would gladly have done as much for her, if she had been wounded. But the husband interposed, considering the location of the wound. He declared that he was the only one of the family who ought to meddle with it. Well, they investigated.--I had sat down on a nail, a huge carpenter's nail. How did it happen to be there--with the point up? That is something nobody could explain. But the important thing was to remove it. The landlord couldn't do it. He sent for a locksmith with his pincers, and he had such hard work pulling the infernal spike out of my rump, that, when he did get it out, it looked more like a corkscrew than a nail!" The bald party made no other comment on this story than a low grunt, and continued to read his newspaper. Cherami scrutinized him for some minutes, saying to himself: "Where in the devil have I seen that phiz? I can't remember, but this certainly isn't the first time that I have had the misfortune to meet this bald-headed boor.--It seems that the story of my nail didn't affect you, monsieur?" he said aloud to his neighbor, who was stirring his grog. "I paid very little attention to it, monsieur. When I am reading the paper, I am engrossed by my reading." "And you believe everything you find in it, I suppose?" "Why not, monsieur?" "Ah! I should judge that you were quite capable of it!--But you don't know how to fix your grog, monsieur." "What! I don't know how to fix my grog?" "No, not at all. You keep stirring and stirring; but you don't crush the piece of lemon-peel with your spoon and squeeze out the juice." "How does it concern you, monsieur, whether I crush my lemon-peel or not? If it suits me to drink my grog like this, am I not at liberty to do it?" "Oh! to be sure! I give you good advice--you don't want it. As you please! I'll bet that you're looking through the advertisements in the paper to find something to make the hair grow?" "No, monsieur. Let me tell you that if I wanted hair, I could have as much as anybody." "I don't doubt it, with your money; you could wear three wigs, one on top of another; that would give you a superb head of hair!" "But I don't like artificial things, monsieur; I detest what is false! The truth before everything!"