but bidding
him take notice that she did not consider herself beaten.

"No more did the French at Waterloo," said Hunsden.

"There is no comparison between the cases," rejoined Frances; "mine was
a sham fight."

"Sham or real, it's up with you."

"No; though I have neither logic nor wealth of words, yet in a case
where my opinion really differed from yours, I would adhere to it when
I had not another word to say in its defence; you should be baffled by
dumb determination. You speak of Waterloo; your Wellington ought to have
been conquered there, according to Napoleon; but he persevered in spite
of the laws of war, and was victorious in defiance of military tactics.
I would do as he did."

"I'll be bound for it you would; probably you have some of the same sort
of stubborn stuff in you.

"I should be sorry if I had not; he and Tell were brothers, and I'd
scorn the Swiss, man or woman, who had none of the much-enduring nature
of our heroic William in his soul."

"If Tell was like Wellington, he was an ass."

"Does not ASS mean BAUDET?" asked Frances, turning to me.

"No, no," replied I, "it means an ESPRIT-FORT; and now," I continued, as
I saw that fresh occasion of strife was brewing between these two, "it
is high time to go."

Hunsden rose. "Good bye," said he to Frances; "I shall be off for this
glorious England to-morrow, and it may be twelve months or more before
I come to Brussels again; whenever I do come I'll seek you out, and
you shall see if I don't find means to make you fiercer than a dragon.
You've done pretty well this evening, but next interview you shall
challenge me outright. Meantime you're doomed to become Mrs. William
Crimsworth, I suppose; poor young lady? but you have a spark of spirit;
cherish it, and give the Professor the full benefit thereof."

"Are you married. Mr. Hunsden?" asked Frances, suddenly.

"No. I should have thought you might have guessed I was a Benedict by my
look."

"Well, whenever you marry don't take a wife out of Switzerland; for if
you begin blaspheming Helvetia, and cursing the cantons--above all, if
you mention the word ASS in the same breath with the name Tell (for
ass IS baudet, I know; though Monsieur is pleased to translate
it ESPRIT-FORT) your mountain maid will some night smother her
Breton-bretonnant, even as your own Shakspeare's Othello smothered
Desdemona."

"I am warned," said Hunsden; "and so are you, lad," (nodding to me). "I
hope yet to hear