unexpected quarter. Gaston's large, solid body, strong face, and
penetrating eyes were not to be sneered out of sight. The Frenchman,
an envious, disappointed artist, had had in his mind a bloodless duel,
to give a fillip to an unacquired fame. He had, however, been drinking.
He flung an insolent glance to meet Gaston's steady look, and said:

"The cock crows of his dunghill!"

Gaston looked at the landlord, then got up calmly and walked down the
table. The Frenchman, expecting he knew not what, sprang to his feet,
snatching up a knife; but Gaston was on him like a hawk, pinioning his
arms and lifting him off the ground, binding his legs too, all so tight
that the Frenchman squealed for breath.

"Monsieur," said Gaston to the landlord, "from the door or the window?"

The landlord was pale. It was in some respects a quarrel of races.
For, French and English at the tables had got up and were eyeing each
other. As to the immediate outcome of the quarrel, there could be no
doubt. The English and Americans could break the others to pieces;
but neither wished that. The landlord decided the matter:

"Drop him from this window."

He pushed a shutter back, and Gaston dropped the fellow on the hard
pavement--a matter of five feet. The Frenchman got up raging, and made
for the door; but this time he was met by the landlord, who gave him his
hat, and bade him come no more. There was applause from both English and
French. The journalist chuckled--another column!