the momentary struggle his flaxen wig got disturbed, and beneath it I saw
a dark curl. I suspect that the man is not only younger than he seemed,
but of higher rank--a conspirator against one throne, perhaps, in order
to be minister under another. There are such men."

Before Monnier, who seemed struck by these conjectures, collected his
thoughts to answer, a tall man in the dress of a _sous lieutenant_
stopped under a dim gas-lamp, and, catching sight of the artisan's face,
seized him by the hand, exclaiming, "Armand, _mon frere_! well met;
strange times, eh? Come and discuss them at the cafe de Lyon yonder over
a bowl of punch. I'll stand treat."

"Agreed, dear Charles."

"And if this monsieur is a friend of yours, perhaps he will join us."

"You are too obliging, Monsieur," answered Le Noy, not ill-pleased to get
rid of his excited companion; "but it has been a busy day with me, and I
am only fit for bed. Be abstinent of the punch, Armand. You are
feverish already. Good-night, Messieurs."

The cafe de Lyon, in vogue among the National Guard of the quartier, was
but a few yards off, and the brothers turned towards it arm in arm. "Who
is the friend?" asked Charles; "I don't remember to have seen him with
thee before."

"He belongs to the medical craft--a good patriot and a kind man--attends
the poor gratuitously. Yes, Charles, these are strange times; what dost
thou think will come of them?"