Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. . “None, I thank you,” he answered. Evidently in the flower of his age, he was scarcely less remarkable for symmetry of person than for comeliness of feature; and, though his attire was plain and unpretending, it was such as could be worn only by one belonging to the higher ranks of society. Taking hold of the hilt of his own foil, he drew it forth. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed.
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