"Do you hear?" said Morrisel, "and when you have taken his measure you can go with it to the undertaker's." "To the undertaker ...?" "Yes, Changeur; and there you can order in my name--in the name of Colonel Morrisel, you quite understand?--a first-rate funeral equipage for M. le Baron de B---. You understand, it is to be of the very best!--I know it will come to more; but the five hundred francs will do on account;--you understand, Changeur? it is to be a thoroughly good funeral." M. le Baron de B--- tried to take it as a joke. "Monsieur," he said, "I should have thought you could have left my family to make these arrangements." "Not so, M. le Baron; your family is ruined--so people say--and the thing would be shabbily done. Think of carrying M. le Baron de B--- to the cemetery in a second-rate hearse, or with a third-rate pall! Fie! I have killed twenty-two men in duels during my life, M. le Baron, and I have always borne the cost of their burials. Rely upon me, you shall be handsomely buried. When strangers see your cortège pass by, I mean them to ask, 'Dear me! whose is that magnificent funeral?' Then, as it passes along the boulevard, Changeur will reply, 'It is that of M. le Baron de B---, the famous duellist, you know. He rudely forced a quarrel on a young fellow who could not defend himself; Colonel Morrisel happened to be present, took up cudgels for the young man and, upon my word, if he didn't kill the Baron de B--- at the first thrust! It will be an excellent example for all impertinent people and duellists ...' Au revoir, M. le Baron de B---, that is to say, until to-morrow. You know my address, send me the names of your seconds; yours is the choice of arms." Then, turning towards the waiter: "And now, Changeur, my lad, you understand, a first-class turn out--the very best that can be had! Nothing shall be too good for M. le Baron de B---!" And he readjusted his spectacles, took up his umbrella and went out. The quarrel had made a great commotion, and next day, from noon onwards, the café _Français_ was crowded with inquisitive people, anxious to know what had passed and, still more, what was going to happen. At one o'clock Morrisel arrived as usual, his spectacles on his nose, his umbrella in his hand. Everybody made way for him. Morrisel bowed with his accustomed politeness, went to his usual place and called for Changeur, who ran to him and hastened to serve him. "My coffee, Changeur," said Morrisel; and he phlegmatically melted his sugar into the last atom, and then M. le Baron de B--- entered the café. He advanced towards Morrisel, who raised his glasses, and returned his adversary's salute with a smile on his lips. "Monsieur le Comte," said the baron, "when I insulted you yesterday, I was not sober; to-day, I offer you my apologies, will you please accept them? I have made reparation, and I can therefore address you thus without damage to my honour." "That is your own concern, M. le Baron," returned Morrisel.