One day the wags introduced him to a company of ladies, who, though not countesses and princesses exactly, took, nevertheless, those titles upon themselves for the nonce; and were all, for the same reason, violently smitten with Master Poinsinet’s person. One of them, the lady of the house, was especially tender; and, seating him by her side at supper, so plied him with smiles, ogles, and champagne, that our little hero grew crazed with ecstasy, and wild with love. In the midst of his happiness, a cruel knock was heard below, accompanied by quick loud talking, swearing, and shuffling of feet: you would have thought a regiment was at the door. ‘Oh, heavens!’ cried the marchioness, starting up, and giving to the hand of Poinsinet one parting squeeze; ‘fly--fly, my Poinsinet: ‘tis the colonel--my husband!’ At this, each gentleman of the party rose, and, drawing his rapier, vowed to cut his way through the colonel and all his _mousquetaires_, or die, if need be, by the side of Poinsinet. The little fellow was obliged to lug out his sword too, and went shuddering downstairs, heartily repenting of his passion for marchionesses. When the party arrived in the street, they found, sure enough, a dreadful company of _mousquetaires_, as they seemed, ready to oppose their passage. Swords crossed,--torches blazed; and, with the most dreadful shouts and imprecations, the contending parties rushed upon one another; the friends of Poinsinet surrounding and supporting that little warrior, as the French knights did King Francis at Pavia, otherwise the poor fellow certainly would have fallen down in the gutter from fright. But the combat was suddenly interrupted; for the neighbours, who knew nothing of the trick going on, and thought the brawl was real, had been screaming with all their might for the police, who began about this time to arrive. Directly they appeared, friends and enemies of Poinsinet at once took to their heels; and, in _this_ part of the transaction, at least, our hero himself showed that he was equal to the longest-legged grenadier that ever ran away. When, at last, those little bandy legs of his had borne him safely to his lodgings, all Poinsinet’s friends crowded round him, to congratulate him on his escape and his valour. ‘Egad, how he pinked that great red-haired fellow!’ said one. ‘No; did I?’ said Poinsinet. ‘Did you? Psha! don’t try to play the modest, and humbug _us_; you know you did. I suppose you will say, next, that you were not for three minutes point to point with Cartentierce himself, the most dreadful swordsman of the army.’