"She is my sister-in-law, sir!" he replied in a fury, his voice swelling

louder and louder: "She is my brother's wife, sir; and he's no fool, no

more am I, sir!----Twenty-one years of service, eleven campaigns, and

sub-lieutenant of the Customs at Toulon, sir!----So you shall just let

me know how it was my sister-in-law fainted through your fault; and what

you meant by taking the liberty of exposing her in a way that no decent

man would be guilty of, not even with the consent of her family, nor if

she were in mortal danger of her life, sir!"

"And where do you live?" continued my uncle, sipping his madeira, and

still fixing upon the fair one's brother-in-law the same charming gaze.

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"Hôtel des Bouches-du-Rhone, Rue Pagevin. I am escorting my

sister-in-law, and I am responsible for her to her husband."

"My compliments to you, sir! She is a charming young person."

This magnificent composure of my uncle's so completely disconcerted the

lieutenant of the Customs that he stopped short. But he had been carried

on too far by his hot meridional temper not to launch out again very

soon. He followed up with a perfect flood of abuse, interlarded with the

most approved insults, with violent epithets and noisy oaths. My uncle

listened to him quietly, stroking his chin, and contemplating him as if

watching the performance of some surprising feat. The Toulonnais said

that he considered this fainting fit of his sister-in-law's, and the

very unceremonious proceedings which had followed it, equally suspicious

and irregular.

"My brother's honour has been outraged," and so on, he observed.

But at last the good fellow was obliged to pause in order to take

breath. Barbassou-Pasha took advantage of the opening.

"Pray what is your name?" he asked, still smiling affably.

"My name, my good man," loftily replied the man of Toulon, "is Firmin

Bonaffé, lieutenant in the Customs, seen twenty-one years of service and

eleven campaigns. And if that is not enough for you----"

"Why, dear me! then this charming young person has married your brother,

has she?"

"A week ago, sir, at Cadiz, where she lives! It was because he had to

go back over the sea to Brazil that he confided her to my charge. And

you must not imagine that I can let your outrageous behaviour to her

pass without further notice, sir!"

"You are a man of spirit, sir, that I can see!" replied my uncle. He was

gradually falling into his native assent, charmed, no doubt, by the

soothing example of his adversary. "I can understand your feelings," he

continued; "and for my part, my good fellow, I confess I should not have

the slightest objection to taking a sabre and slicing off a piece of

your person." (He uttered this latter word, individu, in French, with

the Marseillais pronunciation, inndividu.) "Indeed," he continued

quite placidly, "I should have no objection to throwing you through the

window here, just as you are."




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