dominoes, then, as now, the staple resource of a French cafe.

The clock over the "comptoir" struck eight, and, at the same instant,
a waiter made his appearance, carrying a small table, which he placed
beside the fire, and, having trimmed a lamp, and placed a large fauteuil
before it, was about to withdraw, when Trevanion, whose curiosity was
roused by the singularity of these arrangements, determined upon asking
for whose comfort they were intended. The waiter stared for a moment at
the question, with an air as if doubting the seriousness of him who put
it, and at last replied--"Pour Monsieur le Capitaine, je crois," with a
certain tone of significance upon the latter words.

"Le Capitaine! but what captain?" said he, carelessly; "for I am a
captain, and that gentleman there--and there, too, is another," at the
same instant throwing himself listlessly into the well-cushioned chair,
and stretching out his legs at full length upon the hearth.

The look of horror which this quiet proceeding on his part, elicited from
the poor waiter, so astonished him that he could not help saying--"is
there any thing the matter with you, my friend; are you ill?"

"No, monsieur, not ill; nothing the matter with me; but you, sir; oh,
you, sir, pray come away."

"Me," said Trevanion; "me! why, my good man, I was never better in my
life; so now just bring me my coffee and the Moniteur, if you have it;
there, don't stare that way, but do as I bid you."

There was something in the assured tone of these few words that either
overawed or repressed every rising feeling of the waiter, for his