Whatever may have been in his mind the facts are plain: finding that I took one blow calmly he struck me another and called me coward. My friend, who had hitherto kept quiet, now attempted to interfere, but I held him down, nearly wrenching his wrist round. The force which was exerted must have given him an idea of the strength that was ready to be used if it were needed, for looking first at his wrist and then at me, he exclaimed in English, “Why don’t you knock the fellow down?” “So you speak English,” said the Frenchmen, “Why don’t you get up and fight me?” With these words he struck me fiercely on the nose. The blood streamed down my clothes, which were spoilt besides by the gravy that was splashed on them in the disturbance from the dishes. My appearance must have been deplorable, and as I was that morning wearing a new suit, I lost my patience with the man. I walked slowly towards him, and with a quick grip of his neck and knees, I picked him up, knocked his head and knees together, and banged him down in the centre of the table. The table broke through, and he fell to the ground. You can imagine, I daresay, the scene of wreckage and consternation--the smashed table, the man dazed, lying in a heap on the floor, his friends around him open-mouthed with amazement. In the midst of this scene I sat down with my friend and smoked a cigar. A gendarme was fetched. He entered the room and wanted to arrest me. The proprietor caught hold of him, saying, “Be careful, he is an awful man, he will kill you. You must have some assistance.” Four more gendarmes were summoned, and, refusing to take me in a cab, they marched me along to the police station. Some of the friends of the man who was hurt accompanied us and explained to the authorities that the regrettable affair was not my fault. They were sorry at what had happened, and I was liberated on bail. Meanwhile they took their injured comrade to the hospital. He was still unconscious, and in that condition he remained a day and a half. Being sincerely sorry for the injury I had caused, I called at the hospital and asked to see him, but he refused. As soon as he recovered, which was not for some weeks, I left Paris to return to London to fulfil an engagement at the Tivoli. One night, whilst I was performing there, the porter brought me a message asking if I would step up to see a gentleman and a party of friends in a private box. When I went up I seemed to recognise the face of the person who wished to see me, but I could not recall where I had seen it before. The party invited me to take wine with them, and nothing would satisfy them but my consent to be their guest at supper. When we reached the hotel, my host said: “I perceive, Mr. Sandow, you have only pretended that you know me. You do not really recall my identity.” It had to be confessed that he was right. “If you really knew me,” he proceeded, “you would probably not speak to me.”