Reaching the Gascon's side, he seized the arm that held Roland; and his pressure must have been very powerful, for the chevalier made a horrible grimace and slowly lowered his sword, crying: "Zounds! what an iron grip!" "What does this mean?" cried the Bohemian, in a cracked but piercing voice. "Do people draw their swords in a wine shop? Fie! seigneur chevalier, this is not a battlefield worthy of you! accustomed as you are to conquer in single combat and to excel in jousting!--And you, Master Bougard, you are out very late; the curfew rang long ago; your shopboys pay little heed to it when their master is not there. And God knows whether your shop is not at the mercy of cutpurses and footpads to-night!--As for you, neighbor Dupont, you have a pretty young wife, and it seems to me that you do not watch her very closely. Beware! gallants abound in your neighborhood; they know that you come to this wine shop every night and stay late. That makes it very convenient for them to go sparking your wife." The two tradesmen listened to nothing more; they hurriedly pushed aside those who stood in their way, and rushed from the shop, paying no further heed to the Gascon and abandoning the idea of following up their quarrel. Meanwhile, Passedix, flattered by the words that the Bohemian had addressed to him, replaced Roland in his sheath, saying: "After all, this old man is right. And then, those two clowns are not foemen worthy of my wrath. But still----" And the Gascon glanced languishingly at the superb omelet, which Poussinet was preparing to carry away, when the Bohemian stopped him and said, putting a piece of money in his hand: "Do not carry that away; put the supper on the table--before these two gallant fellows, who will permit me to entertain them and to sup with them. Fetch also a piece of your best cheese and another full pint of your oldest wine, so that we may drink longer." The waiter, being paid, made haste to execute the orders he had received. Meanwhile, Passedix, who could hardly believe his ears, gazed at the Bohemian as the Incas gazed at the sun, then opened his long arms and threw himself into those of the man with the gray beard, crying: "By the shades of my ancestors! you are a noble old man! I do not know you; but it would seem that you know me; for your behavior toward me is that of an old friend!" "Oh! who has not heard of the valiant Chevalier Passedix, godson of the worthy Chaudoreille!--of his exploits, of his prowess, and of his triumphs with the ladies! I am only a poor Bohemian, but, by virtue of my profession, I know very well what is happening in Paris. So do not be surprised, seigneur chevalier, that I am so well informed with respect to your affairs." "Capédébious! this old man talks better than our ediles!--Don't you think so, friend Cédrille, eh? Why do you refuse to speak, and keep your hand over your left eye?"