He had just been served, when a man, whose dress very much resembled his own, lounged into the wine-shop.  He was a tall, clumsily built fellow, with an insolent expression upon his beardless face.  His coat and cap were in an equally dilapidated condition; and in the squeaky voice of the rough, he ordered a plate of beef and half a bottle of wine, and, as he brushed past Andre, upset his glass of brandy.  The artist made no remark, though he felt quite sure that this act was intentional, as the fellow laughed impudently when he saw the damage that he had done.  When his breakfast was served, he carelessly spit upon Andre’s boots.  The insult was so apparent that Andre began to reflect.

“Had he not succeeded in eluding his spies, as he thought that he had done?  And was it not quite possible that this man had been sent to pick a quarrel with him, and deal him a disabling, or even a fatal blow?”

Prudence counselled him to leave the place at once, but he felt that he could not go until he had found out the real truth.  There seemed to be but little doubt on the matter, however; for as the fellow cut up his meat, he jerked every bit of skin and gristle into his neighbor’s lap; then, after finishing up his wine, he managed to upset the few drops remaining on to Andre’s arm and shoulder.  This was the finishing stroke.

“Please, remember,” remarked Andre calmly, “that there is some one at the table besides yourself.”

“Do you think I’m blind, mate?” returned the fellow brutally.  “Mind your own business, or——­” And to conclude the sentence, he shook his fist threateningly in the young man’s face.

Andre started to his feet, and, with a well-directed blow in the chest, sent the fellow rolling under the table.

At the sound of the scuffle, the card-players turned round, and saw Andre standing erect, with quivering lips and eyes flashing with rage, while his antagonist was lying on the floor among the overturned chairs.

“Come, come!  No squabbling here!” remarked one of the players.

The fellow scrambled to his feet, and made a savage rush at the young man, who, using his right foot skilfully, tripped his antagonist up, and sent him again rolling on the ground.  It was most adroitly done, and secured the applause of the lookers-on, who now complained no longer, and were evidently interested in the scene.

Again the rough came up, but Andre contented himself with standing on the defensive.  Some tables, a stool, and a glass were injured, and at last the proprietor came upon the scene of action.

“Get out of this,” cried he, “and take care that I don’t see your faces here again.”

At these words, the rough burst out into a torrent of foul language.

“Don’t put up with his cheek,” said one of the customers; “give him in charge at once.”