The messengers had been walking together for some time, at a somewhat uncertain pace. Jean Ficelle, who loved to talk grandiloquently, and who credited himself with the art of hoodwinking his hearers, was presenting his comrade with a comparison to prove that the gambler who has lost all his money is much nearer to winning than he whose pockets are full. Sans-Cravate listened, without paying the slightest attention; his face was flushed, his expression alert and quarrelsome; he did not step aside for anyone, and he had more than once roughly jostled persons who passed him, and had nearly thrown them down. "Look out what you're doing," said Jean Ficelle; "you're running into everybody! You'll get yourself into trouble!" "Why don't they get out of the way? So much the worse for them! and if anyone isn't satisfied, just let him say so." Suddenly, as they were walking along the canal, Sans-Cravate spied a man talking earnestly with a woman on a street corner. To utter an exclamation, come to a halt, and grasp his companion's arm so hard that he made him cry out, was a matter of an instant with Sans-Cravate. "What in God's name's the matter?" demanded Jean Ficelle, almost terrified. "It's him--and her! Yes, there they are together. Look--over there, at the corner of that street!" Jean Ficelle looked; he recognized Paul talking to Bastringuette, with great earnestness and with an air of mystery. "_Pardi!_" he exclaimed; "the turtle-doves have evidently met here by appointment--a long way from our neighborhood, so as not to be seen. How this fits in--when you was just saying that you'd never seen Paul with your fly-away! You see 'em now." "Yes--and I still doubted! Ah! the villain! but he's got to pay me for his treachery!" "What are you going to do? Come, Sans-Cravate, no knock-down fight. Just give him a clip--he well deserves it--and then, off we go! for, although there ain't many people passing, we must look out for loafers." Sans-Cravate paid no heed to what his comrade said, but strode rapidly toward Paul; Bastringuette had left him, and he was walking away by the canal, when Sans-Cravate planted himself in front of him. "You don't go any farther," he cried. "Is it you, Sans-Cravate?" said Paul, looking up at him. "Great heaven! what's the matter? You look like a madman!" "The matter is that you're a coward, a sneak!" "Sans-Cravate!" "Who was that with you a minute ago?" "Bastringuette." "And she ran off when she saw me, because she was afraid I'd give her a beating; but I don't beat women, I don't; I take my revenge on men--and you've got to fight with me!" "Sans-Cravate, you are entirely mistaken--I give you my word of honor. I am not Bastringuette's lover; I have never mentioned the word _love_ to her; besides, you know perfectly well that I am in love with another woman."