CHAPTER V.
C'est la Vie "Les querelles ne dureraient pas longtemps si le tort n'etait d'un cote." Monsieur Alphonse Giraud, unlike many men, had an aim in life--a daily purpose with which he rose in the morning at, it must be admitted, a shockingly late hour--without which he rarely sought his couch even when it was not reached until the foolish birds were astir.
The son of the celebrated Baron Giraud sought, in a word, to be mistaken for an Englishman--and what higher ambition could we, who modestly set such store upon our nationality, desire him to cherish?
In view of this praiseworthy object, Alphonse Giraud wore a mustache only, and this--oh! inconsistency of great minds--he laboriously twirled heavenwards in the French fashion.

It was, in fact, the guileless Alphonse's chief tribulation that, however industriously he cultivated that devil-may-care upward sweep, the sparse ornament to his upper lip invariably drooped downwards again before long.

In the sunny land of France it is held that the mustache worn "en croc" not only confers upon its possessor an air of distinction, but renders that happy individual particularly irresistible in the eyes of the fair.

Readers of modern French fiction are aware that the heroes of those edifying tales invariably wear the mustache "hardiment retroussee," which habit doubtless adds a subtle charm to their singularly puerile and fatuous conversation imperceptible to the mere reader.
Alphonse Giraud was a small man, and would have given a thousand pounds for another inch, as he frankly told his friends.

His outward garments were fashioned in London, whence also came his hats, gloves and boots.