Frowenfeld saw within the carriage two men, one in citizen's dress, the other in a brilliant uniform.

The latter leaned forward, and, with a cordiality which struck the young spectator as delightful, bowed.

The immigrant glanced at Citizen Fusilier, expecting to see the greeting returned with great haughtiness; instead of which that person uncovered his leonine head, and, with a solemn sweep of his cocked hat, bowed half his length.

Nay, he more than bowed, he bowed down--so that the action hurt Frowenfeld from head to foot.
"What large gentlemen was that sitting on the other side ?" asked the young man, as his companion sat down with the air of having finished an oration.
"No gentleman at all!" thundered the citizen.

"That fellow" (beetling frown), "that _fellow_ is Edward Livingston." "The great lawyer ?" "The great villain!" Frowenfeld himself frowned.
The old man laid a hand upon his junior's shoulder and growled benignantly: "My young friend, your displeasure delights me!" The patience with which Frowenfeld was bearing all this forced a chuckle and shake of the head from the _marchande_.
Citizen Fusilier went on speaking in a manner that might be construed either as address or soliloquy, gesticulating much and occasionally letting out a fervent word that made passers look around and Joseph inwardly wince.