e Marquis did the honors of his house with the urbanity of his
country. In fact, he was proud of his old family chateau; for part of
it was extremely old. There was a tower and chapel that had been built
almost before the memory of man; but the rest was more modern; the
castle having been nearly demolished during the wars of the League. The
Marquis dwelt upon this event with great satisfaction, and seemed
really to entertain a grateful feeling towards Henry IV., for having
thought his paternal mansion worth battering down. He had many stories
to tell of the prowess of his ancestors, and several skull-caps,
helmets, and cross-bows to show; and divers huge boots and buff
jerkins, that had been worn by the Leaguers. Above all, there was a
two-handled sword, which he could hardly wield; but which he displayed
as a proof that there had been giants in his family.

In truth, he was but a small descendant from such great warriors. When
you looked at their bluff visages and brawny limbs, as depicted in
their portraits, and then at the little Marquis, with his spindle
shanks; his sallow lanthern visage, flanked with a pair of powdered
ear-locks, or _ailes de pigeon_, that seemed ready to fly away with it;
you would hardly believe him to be of the same race. But when you
looked at the eyes that sparkled out like a beetle's from each side of
his hooked nose, you saw at once that he inherited all the fiery spirit
of his forefathers. In fact, a Frenchman's spirit never exhales,
however his body may dwindle. It rather rarefies, and grows more
inflammable, as the earthly particles diminish; and I have seen valor
enough in a little fiery-hearted French dwarf, to have furnished out a
tolerable giant.

When once the Marquis, as he was wont, put on one of the old helmets
that were stuck up in his hall; though his head no more filled it than
a dry pea its pease cod; yet his eyes sparkled from the bottom of the
iron cavern with the brilliancy of carbuncles, and when he poised the
ponderous two-handled sword of his ancestors, you would have thought
you saw the doughty little David wielding the sword of Goliath, which
was unto him like a weaver's beam.

However, gentlemen, I am dwelling too long on this description of the
Marquis and his chateau; but you must excuse me; he was an old friend
of my uncle's, and whenever my uncle told the story, he was always fond
of talking a great deal about his host.--Poor little Marquis! He was
one of that