Willy nilly, I folded him to my breast, I pressed him there, I kissed his ugly mug as it had never been kissed before and would never be kissed again; and in the doing so knocked his wig awry and his hat off.

He bleated in my embrace; so bleats the sheep in the arms of the butcher.

The whole thing, on looking back, appears incomparably reckless and absurd; I no better than a madman for offering to advance on Dudgeon, and he no better than a fool for not shooting me while I was about it.

But all's well that ends well; or, as the people in these days kept singing and whistling on the streets:-- 'There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft And looks out for the life of poor Jack.' 'There!' said I, releasing him a little, but still keeping my hands on his shoulders, '_je vous ai bel et bien embrasse_--and, as you would say, there is another French word.' With his wig over one eye, he looked incredibly rueful and put out.

'Cheer up, Dudgeon; the ordeal is over, you shall be embraced no more.