"Permit me," said the brigand of the Loire,--for so the man called himself--"My name is not Rhinoceros. A certain African animal has that beautiful name, as I have often told you during the many games of _dominoes_ we have played together at the _Café Lemblin_, whither you are attracted by my company. My name is _Rinoccio--Paolo Rinoccio_, born in Corsica, as my foreign accent tells you. I am the countryman of _him_." He made a military salute. "I served ten years beneath the Eagles. You, too, adore our Emperor. Each Buonapartist has a hand for his brother," continued he, shaking that of Morisseau. "Already thinking alike, eight days ago, over M. Lemblin's cognac, we swore eternal friendship. You, therefore, deigned to visit the warrior in his tent, in Jacob-street, to share the bread and soup of the soldier, and drink to the return of _him_ of Austerlitz." "M. Rhinoceros,--no, no, Rhino,--damn the name," said the Corsican's guest, "it is indeed an honor for me to sit at the table of so brave a man--for that reason, I accepted your invitation." "Sit down, then, and let us drink to the health of the little corporal." As he spoke he filled two glasses and emptied his own. M. Morisseau simply moistened his lips. "The Emperor," he said, on receiving his part of the soup, "the Emperor, M. Rhino, was my god." "And that of France," said the Corsican. "He was my god and my best customer; I had the honor to be his furrier." "His what?" "His furrier. I furnished his majesty's robes--not only his own, but those of all the kings he made. You know the Emperor used to make a king a year, and he used to insist that all his brothers and friends should reign only in my robes. I had the honor, therefore, of wrapping up the august forms of Kings Louis, Joseph, Jerome, Bernadotte and Murat, without particularizing the sovereign princes, grand dukes, and grand judges, who to please _him_ dealt with me." "To _his_ health," said the Corsican, and he emptied the second glass. "You never served, Monsieur Morisseau?" "Yes," said the furrier, "I marched beneath the imperial eagles. I belonged to the glorious army of the _Sambre_ and _Meuse_. I even now suffer in my _femur_." "From a ball?" "No, from the rheumatism, contracted during a forced march during the winter of '93. Having been surprised during the night by the enemy, I had not time to dress myself comfortably, and was compelled to march fifteen leagues barefooted, and in my drawers. That, by the bye, was the usual uniform of our army. Those who were best dressed only wore shoes and pantaloons. To dress thus, though, something more than our pay was necessary, which we never got." "You were then discharged?" "Yes, for my rheumatism became very severe. But for it I might now be a general. I asked a pension as having been wounded in service. It was, however, refused me--a great injustice."