"Oh," said the Scotchman, "allow me to doubt. I understand
the distribution of blood among the planters, because I am a
homoeopathist; but what could your pipe gain by being diluted among
four men?"

"The first filled it, the second lighted it, the third handed it and
the fourth smoked it. I hate tobacco."

The witticism appeared generally agreeable, and I laughed with the
rest. The cheerful philosopher in the gray coat passed out: as he left
the room, followed subserviently by his interlocutors, he bowed very
pleasantly to me and shook hands with my guardian the engineer.

"You know him?" I said to the latter.

"Just as well as you," he replied: "is it possible you don't recognize
him? It is Fortnoye."

"What! Fortnoye--the Ancient of the wine-cellar at Épernay?"

"Certainly."

"In truth it is the same jolly voice. Then his white beard was a
disguise?"

"What would you have?"

"I am glad he is the same: I began to think the mystifiers here were
as dangerous as those of the champagne country. At any rate, he is a