“But gently,” added I, “I had no cane whatever the last evening.” “Oh! I beg pardon,” interrupted he; “but my friend is most positive in his account, and describes the altercation as having continued from the Salon to the street, when you struck him, and at the same time threw him your card. Two of our officers were also present; and although, as it appears from your present forgetfulness, that the thing took place in the heat and excitement of the moment, still—” “But still,” said I, catching up his last words, “I never did strike the gentleman as you describe—never had any altercation in the street—and—” “Is that your address?” said the Frenchman, with a slight bow. “Yes, certainly it is.” “Why then,” said he, with a slight curl of his upper lip—half smile, half derision— “Oh! make yourself perfectly easy,” I replied. “If any one has by an accident made use of my name, it shall not suffer by such a mistake. I shall be quite at your service, the moment I can find out a friend to refer you to.” I had much difficulty to utter these few words with a suitable degree of temper, so stung was I by the insolent demeanour of the Frenchman, whose coolness and urbanity seemed only to increase every moment. “Then I have the honour to salute you,” said he, rising with great mildness in his voice; “and shall take the liberty to leave my card for the information of your friend.” So saying, he placed his card upon the table—“Le Capitaine Eugene de Joncourt, Cuirassiers de la Garde.” “I need not press upon Monsieur the value of despatch.” “I shall not lose a moment,” said I, as he clattered down the stairs of the hotel, with that perfect swaggering nonchalance which a Frenchman is always an adept in; and I returned to my room, to meditate upon my numerous embarrassments, and think over the difficulties which every moment was contributing to increase the number of. “The indictment has certainly many counts,” thought I. Imprimis—A half-implied, but fully comprehended promise to marry a young lady, with whom, I confess, I only intend to journey this life—as far as Baden. Secondly, a charge of swindling—for such the imputation goes to—at the Salon. Thirdly, another unaccountable delay in joining the Callonbys, with whom I am every hour in the risque of being “compromis;” and lastly, a duel in perspective with some confounded Frenchman, who is at this very moment practising at a pistol gallery. Such were the heads of my reflections, and such the agreeable impressions my visit to Paris was destined to open with; how they were to be followed up I reserve for another chapter. CHAPTER XXX. CAPTAIN TREVANION’S ADVENTURE. [Illustration: Trevanion Astonishing the Bully Gendemar]