an old servant--already he was
flattering me on my family connections!

I followed him through the house into the stable-yard, where I observed
the driver washing the cart in a shed. He must have heard the explosion
of the pistol. He could not choose but hear it; the thing was shaped
like a little blunderbuss, charged to the mouth, and made a report like
a piece of field artillery. He had heard, he had paid no attention; and
now, as we came forth by the back door, he raised for a moment a pale
and tell-tale face that was as direct as a confession. The rascal had
expected to see Fenn come forth alone; he was waiting to be called on
for that part of sexton, which I had already allotted to him in fancy.

I need not detain the reader very long with any description of my visit
to the back-kitchen; of how we mulled our ale there, and mulled it very
well; nor of how we sat talking, Fenn like an old, faithful,
affectionate dependant, and I--well! I myself fallen into a mere
admiration of so much impudence, that transcended words, and had very
soon conquered animosity. I took a fancy to the man, he was so vast a
humbug. I began to see a kind of beauty in him, his _aplomb_ was so
majestic. I never knew a rogue to cut so fat; his villainy was ample,
like his belly, and I could scarce find it in my heart to hold him
responsible for either. He was good enough to drop into the
autobiographical; telling me how the farm, in spite of the war and the
high prices, had proved a disappointment; how there was "a sight of
cold, wet land as you come along the 'igh-road"; how the winds and rains
and the seasons had been misdirected, it seemed "o' purpose"; how Mrs.
Fenn had died--"I lost her coming two year agone; a remarkable fine
woman, my old girl, sir; if you'll excuse me," he added, with a burst of
humility. In short, he gave me an opportunity of studying John Bull, as
I may say, stripped naked--his greed, his usuriousness, his hypocrisy,
his perfidy of the back-stairs, all swelled to the superlative--such as
was well worth the little disarray and fluster of our passage in the
hall.

CHAPTER XIII

I MEET TWO OF MY COUNTRYMEN

As soon as I judged it safe, and that was not before Burchell Fenn had
talked himself back into his breath and a complete good-humour, I
proposed he should introduce me to the French officers, henceforth to
become my fellow-passengers. There were two of them, it appeared, and my
heart beat as I approache