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"You sall not have a single fezare of him, begar," said the Count: "ve vill blow you, M. de Taguerague; parole d'honneur, ve vill." "What's all this, gents," says I, stepping in, "about birds and feathers?"
The poor girl blushed very much, and did so. As all the people were applauding, Tagrag rushed up, and, laying his hand on the Baron's shoulder, whispered something in his ear, which made the other very angry, I suppose, for he shook him off violently. "Chacun pour soi," says he, "Monsieur de Taguerague," which means, I am told, "Every man for himself."
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