then came a ribbon’d chevalier of the Legion of Honour, whose hat was oftener in his hand than on his head, followed by a nondescript looking militaire with fierce mustachios, in shining jack-boots, white leathers, and a sort of Italian military cloak, with one side thrown over the shoulder, to exhibit the wearer’s leg, and the bright scabbard of a large sword, while on the hero’s left arm hung a splendidly dressed woman.  “What a figure!” said the Yorkshireman to himself, as they came before him, and he took another good stare.—­“Yet stay—­no, impossible!—­Gracious Heaven! it can’t be—­and yet it is—­by Jove, it’s Jorrocks!”

“Why now, you old imbecile,” cried he, jumping off his chairs and running up to him, “What are you after?” bursting into a loud laugh as he looked at Mr. Jorrocks’s mustachios (a pair of great false ones).  “Is there no piece of tomfoolery too great for you?  What’s come across you now?  Where the deuce did you get these things?” taking hold of the curls at one side of his mustachios.

“How now?” roared Mr. Jorrocks with rage and astonishment.  “How now! ye young scaramouch, vot do you mean by insulting a gentleman sportsman in broad daylight, in the presence of a lady of quality?  By Jingo,” added he, his eyes sparkling with rage, “if you are not off before I can say ‘dumpling’ I’ll run you through the gizzard and give your miserable carcass to the dogs,” suiting the action to the word, and groping under his cloak for the hilt of his sword.—­A crowd collected, and the Yorkshireman perceiving symptoms of a scene, slunk out of the melee, and Mr. Jorrocks, after an indignant shake or two of his feathers and curl of his mustachios, pursued his course up the gardens.

This was the first time they had met since their arrival, which was above a week before; indeed, it was nine days, for the landlord of the house where the Yorkshireman lived had sent his “little bill” two days before this, it being an established rule of his house, and one which was conspicuously posted in all the rooms, that the bills were to be settled weekly; and Mr. Stubbs had that very morning observed that the hat of Monsieur l’Hote was not raised half so high from his head, nor his body inclined so much towards the ground as it was wont to be—­a pretty significant hint that he wanted his cash.—­Now the Yorkshireman, among his other accomplishments, had a turn for play, and unfortunately had been at the Salon the night before, when, after continuous run of ill-luck, he came away twelve francs below the amount of the hotel-keeper’s bill, consequently a rumpus with Mr. Jorrocks could not have taken place at a more unfortunate moment.  Thinking, however, a good night’s rest or two might settle him down, and put all matters right, he let things alone until the Tuesday following, when again finding Monsieur’s little “memoire” on one side of his coffeecup, and a framed copy of the “rules and regulations” of the house on the other, he felt constrained to