I was not sure, myself, that I had
not gone beyond good taste; but calling up the picture of a girl,
resembling in character the Little Pal, had stirred me to sudden
enthusiasm. Fancy a girl looking at one with such eyes! a girl capable
of being such a companion. It would not bear thinking of. There could
be no such girl.
I was glad that, at this moment, we arrived at the Grand Port, and the
garden restaurant, where my regrets for the light that never was on
land or sea--or in a girl's eyes--were temporarily drowned in _cafe au
lait_.
The talk was no more of the unseen Princess, but of Paolo. At last I
condescended to enter into a detailed account of the night's
happenings, where the aeronaut was concerned, and the Boy threw up his
chin, showing his little white teeth in a burst of laughter at my
manoeuvre. "But that _isn't_ an American duel," he objected, still
rippling with mirth. "You commit suicide, you know. The man who draws
the short bit of paper agrees to go quietly off and kill himself
decently somewhere, before the end of a stipulated time."
"I'm aware of that, but I gambled on Paolo's ignorance of the custom,"
said I. "I flattered myself that I'd totted up his character like a
sum on a slate, and I acted on the estimate I formed. If I had kept
entirely to facts, without giving the rein to my imagination, you
might now be doomed to travel at this time next year to Buda-Pesth,
and there drown yourself in the largest possible vat of beer.
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