"Presently there's another ring at my outer door: and this time it's
Bloundell-Bloundell and the marky that comes in. 'Bong jour, marky,'
says I. 'Good morning--no headache,' says he. So I said I had one, and
how I must have been uncommon queer the night afore; but they both
declared I didn't show no signs of having had too much, but took my
liquor as grave as a judge.

"'So,' says the marky, 'Deuceace has been with you; we met him in the
Palais Royal as we were coming from breakfast. Has he settled with
you? Get it while you can: he's a slippery card; and as he won three
ponies of Bloundell, I recommend you to get your money while he
has some.'

"'He has paid me,' says I; but I knew no more than the dead that he
owed me any thing, and don't remember a bit about lending him
thirty louis."

The marky and Bloundell looks and smiles at each other at this; and
Bloundell says, 'Colonel, you are a queer feller. No man could have
supposed, from your manners, that you had tasted any thing stronger
than tea all night, and yet you forget things in the morning. Come,
come--tell that to the marines, my friend--we won't have it any
price.' '_En effet_' says the marky, twiddling his little black
mustaches in the chimney-glass, and making a lunge or two as he used
to do at the fencing-school. (He was a wonder at the fencing-school,
and I've seen him knock down the image fourteen times running, at
Lepage's). 'Let us speak of affairs. Colonel, you understand that
affairs of honor are best settled at once: perhaps it won't be
inconvenient to you to arrange our little matters of last night.'