CHAPTER XIII.
Hegisippe Cruchot laughed and twirled his little brows mustache.
"If you think so much of it," said he, "you can acquit your debt in full by offering me another absinthe to drink the health of the three." "Why, of course," said Septimus.
Hegisippe, who was sitting next the door, twisted his head round and shouted his order to those within.

It was a very modest little cafe; in fact it was not a cafe at all, but a _Marchand des vins_ with a zinc counter inside, and a couple of iron tables outside on the pavement to convey the air of a _terrasse_.

Septimus, with his genius for the inharmonious, drank tea; not as the elegant nowadays drink at Colombin's or Rumpelmayer's, but a dirty, gray liquid served with rum, according to the old French fashion, before _five-o'cloquer_ became a verb in the language.
When people ask for tea at a _Marchand des vins_, the teapot has to be hunted up from goodness knows where; and as for the tea...! Septimus, however, sipped the decoction of the dust of ages with his usual placidity.
He had poured himself out a second cup and was emptying into it the remainder of the carafe of rum, so as to be ready for the toast as soon as Hegisippe had prepared his absinthe, when a familiar voice behind him caused him to start and drop the carafe itself into the teacup.
"Well, I'm blessed!" said the voice.
It was Clem Sypher, large, commanding, pink, and smiling.

The sight of Septimus hobnobbing with a Zouave outside a humble wine merchant's had drawn from him the exclamation of surprise.

Septimus jumped to his feet.
"My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you.