Without waiting for an answer, he commenced, in stentorian tones. After
half-a-dozen questions and answers, he asked: "Whom do I pursue at
present?"

"Two persons."

"Ha! Two? Well, who are they?"

"An Englishman, whom if you catch, he will kill you; and a French widow,
whom if you find, she will spit in your face."

"Monsieur le magicien calls a spade a spade, and knows that his cloth
protects him. No matter! Why do I pursue them?"

"The widow has inflicted a wound on your heart, and the Englishman a
wound on your head. They are each separately too strong for you; take
care your pursuit does not unite them."

"Bah! How could that be?"

"The Englishman protects ladies. He has got that fact into your head.
The widow, if she sees, will marry him. It takes some time, she will
reflect, to become a colonel, and the Englishman is unquestionably
young."

"I will cut his cock's-comb for him," he ejaculated with an oath and a
grin; and in a softer tone he asked, "Where is she?"

"Near enough to be offended if you fail."