"But not with a pistol, trooper," retorted the boy, with a little laugh. "At least, let us sup first." Sadi breathed again, while the two Prussians discussed the pros and cons in a low voice. "If these men would but quarrel!" was his idea. They, however, had no intention of doing anything of the kind, for presently they ceased to wrangle, and the young soldier exclaimed, with some severity:-- "You say that you are a fiddler. What proofs of that can you give us?" "My fiddle," answered Sadi, almost joyously; "you will find it on the stones upstairs, sir." The answer surprised the men very much. "Go and look for it, trooper," said the officer, quietly; "there is plenty of time before daylight to settle this fellow's affair. Besides, the captain is fond of a little music." The trooper clambered up out of the cellar at the word of command, while the lieutenant calmly lighted a cigar and surveyed Sadi with an ironical glance. "Poor business, yours, just now, is it not?" he asked. "So poor that I am starving," said Sadi, with dignified simplicity. "Ah! And you look for your supper on the dust-heaps. Just like a fiddler." "I have walked to the ramparts and back every evening for three years," rejoined Sadi, whose self-possession remained to him. "The habit clings to me; besides, what is the harm?" he asked. "The captain will teach you that; don't let me deceive you at all; he will certainly shoot you, old fellow. For myself, I am sensitive; it is my weakness to prefer live bodies to dead ones. I could not--no, I could not harm a fly, my Stradivarius. That is why you are now allowed to say your prayers." His own humour amused him, and presently he continued:-- "But perhaps you do not want to say your prayers, my Amati. Other people generally do that when Frenchmen are fiddling. Here is your violin, I see. Let us play it together." The trooper returned while he spoke, carrying the frayed black leather case which stood for all that life could give to Sadi Descourcelles. When the lieutenant seized upon it with rough hands it was as though someone had struck Sadi a blow. "Gently, for Heaven's sake, sir," he cried. "Do you know that my fiddle is worth five thousand francs?" "To us possibly a good deal more," retorted the lieutenant, uncompassionately. "The captain shall read your music, my little Paganini. This way, if you please, and mind your precious neck if you prefer pistols."