"Do you think to frighten me, you low-lived bath keeper, unworthy to shave noble chins! I am no boy of fifteen; and if you should touch me with your shaving brush, I'd trample you under foot like an old blanket!" "Ah! so! Well, take that! I won't touch you with my shaving brush!" As he spoke, Hugonnet buried his fist in Lambourdin's side; the latter had gone too far to retreat; and then, too, there were so many witnesses! So he answered the blow with a kick, but he measured the distance so inaccurately that he kicked into space. Lambourdin was a little fellow, strong enough, but not of the build to contend with Master Hugonnet. After a struggle that was not of long duration, the two neighbors fell, still clinging to each other. Unluckily, poor Lambourdin was underneath, and had to endure simultaneously the weight of his adversary's body and the numerous blows which he continued to administer. Then it was that the little man's cries attracted the attention of the young gentlemen who had remained in front of the bath keeper's house. They ran to the scene of conflict; Hugonnet was excited and would not release his neighbor; but when he heard the voice of his daughter, who came up to see who the combatants were, the barber grew calmer, rose, and entered his shop, saying: "No matter! he got what he deserved! What need had he to meddle in the affair?" As for Lambourdin, who was completely done up and could hardly walk, he required the assistance of two arms to return to his home, but they were neither pages nor nobles who supplied them, although it was in their behalf that he had fought!--So much for the gratitude of those whose quarrels one embraces! This incident diverted the young dandies, and made them forget Cédrille and Miretta for a moment; and with a Frenchman, when the first ardor has passed away, it very rarely returns. Furthermore, a number of fair dames, who had had time to leave the bath and to dress, came from the house, with a wink to one, a slight nod to another; so that in a few moments the whole crowd dispersed, the idlers sauntered away, the neighbors returned to their homes, and there was no one left in the barber's shop save the Chevalier Passedix, who was wiping Roland, which he had picked out of the gutter, and the Sire de Jarnonville, who had thrown himself into a chair and was apparently lost in thought and entirely oblivious to what was going on about him.