CHAPTER XIII.
I would fight with broad swords, and sink point on the first blood drawn like a gentleman's .-- The Chronicles of the Canongate.
I strolled idly along the Palais Royal (which English people, in some silly proverb, call the capital of Paris, whereas no French man of any rank, nor French woman of any respectability, are ever seen in its promenades) till, being somewhat curious to enter some of the smaller cafes, I went into one of the meanest of them; took up a Journal des Spectacles, and called for some lemonade.

At the next table to me sat two or three Frenchmen, evidently of inferior rank, and talking very loudly over L'Angleterre et les Anglois.

Their attention was soon fixed upon me.
Have you ever observed that if people are disposed to think ill of you, nothing so soon determines them to do so as any act of yours, which, however innocent and inoffensive, differs from their ordinary habits and customs?
No sooner had my lemonade made its appearance, than I perceived an increased sensation among my neighbours of the next table.

In the first place, lemonade is not much drank, as you may suppose, among the French in winter; and, in the second, my beverage had an appearance of ostentation, from being one of the dearest articles I could have called for.

Unhappily, I dropped my newspaper--it fell under the Frenchmen's table; instead of calling the garcon, I was foolish enough to stoop for it myself.