An old, frail, white-haired officer sat in one
of the chairs, which he had drawn close to this apology for a fire.
He was wrapped in a camlet cloak, of which the collar was turned
up, his knees touched the bars, his hands were spread in the very
smoke, and yet he shivered for cold. The second--a big, florid,
fine animal of a man, whose every gesture labelled him the cock of
the walk and the admiration of the ladies--had apparently despaired
of the fire, and now strode up and down, sneezing hard, bitterly
blowing his nose, and proffering a continual stream of bluster,
complaint, and barrack-room oaths.
Fenn showed me in with the brief form of introduction: 'Gentlemen
all, this here's another fare!' and was gone again at once. The
old man gave me but the one glance out of lack-lustre eyes; and
even as he looked a shiver took him as sharp as a hiccough. But
the other, who represented to admiration the picture of a Beau in a
Catarrh, stared at me arrogantly.
'And who are you, sir?' he asked.
I made the military salute to my superiors.
'Champdivers, private, Eighth of the Line,' said I.
'Pretty business!' said he. 'And you are going on with us? Three
in a cart, and a great trolloping private at that! And who is to
pay for you, my fine fellow?' he inquired.
'If monsieur comes to that,' I answered civilly, 'who paid for
him?'
'Oh, if you choose to play the wit!' said he,--and began to rail at
large upon his destiny, the weather, the cold, the danger and the
expense of the escape, and, above all, the cooking of the accursed
English.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172