“That is my affair, sir; I know who it was.”

* * * * *

“And yet she insists,” M. Grandissime was asking Frowenfeld, standing with his leg thrown across the celestial globe, “that I knocked her down intentionally?”

Frowenfeld, about to answer, was interrupted by a rap on the door.

“That is my cousin, with the carriage,” said M. Grandissime, following the apothecary into the shop.

Frowenfeld opened to a young man,—­a rather poor specimen of the Grandissime type, deficient in stature but not in stage manner.

“Est il mort?” he cried at the threshold.

“Mr. Frowenfeld, let me make you acquainted with my cousin, Achille Grandissime.”

Mr. Achille Grandissime gave Frowenfeld such a bow as we see now only in pictures.

“Ve’y ‘appe to meck, yo’ acquaintenz!”

Agricola entered, followed by the doctor, and demanded in indignant thunder-tones, as he entered: 

“Who—­ordered—­that—­carriage?”

“I did,” said Honore.  “Will you please get into it at once.”

“Ah! dear Honore!” exclaimed the old man, “always too kind!  I go in it purely to please you.”

Good-night was exchanged; Honore entered the vehicle and Agricola was helped in.  Achille touched his hat, bowed and waved his hand to Joseph, and shook hands with the doctor, and saying, “Well, good-night.  Doctor Keene,” he shut himself out of the shop with another low bow.  “Think I am going to shake hands with an apothecary?” thought M. Achille.

Doctor Keene had refused Honore’s invitation to go with them.

“Frowenfeld,” he said, as he stood in the middle of the shop wiping a ring with a towel and looking at his delicate, freckled hand, “I propose, before going to bed with you, to eat some of your bread and cheese.  Aren’t you glad?”

“I shall be, Doctor,” replied the apothecary, “if you will tell me what all this means.”

“Indeed I will not,—­that is, not to-night.  What?  Why, it would take until breakfast to tell what ’all this means,’—­the story of that pestiferous darky Bras Coupe, with the rest?  Oh, no, sir.  I would sooner not have any bread and cheese.  What on earth has waked your curiosity so suddenly, anyhow?”

“Have you any idea who stabbed Citizen Fusilier?” was Joseph’s response.

“Why, at first I thought it was the other Honore Grandissime; but when I saw how small the fellow was, I was at a loss, completely.  But, whoever it is, he has my bullet in him, whatever Honore may think.”

“Will Mr. Fusilier’s wound give him much trouble?” asked Joseph, as they sat down to a luncheon at the fire.