rmentor cried.
"Pig of a Gascon!" And deftly sheathing his dagger, he seized the big
coward by the ear, and turning him round, gave him a heavy kick which
sent him spinning over a bucket, and down against the wall. There the
bully remained, swearing and rubbing himself by turns; while the victor
cried boastfully, "Enough of him. If anyone wants to take up his
quarrel, Blaise Bure is his man. If not, let us have an end of it.
Let someone find stalls for the gentlemen's horses before they catch a
chill; and have done with it. As for me," he added, and then he turned
to us and removed his hat with an exaggerated flourish, "I am your
lordship's servant to command."

I thanked him with a heartiness, half-earnest, half-assumed. His cloak
was ragged, his trunk hose, which had once been fine enough, were
stained, and almost pointless, He swaggered inimitably, and had
led-captain written large upon him. But he had done us a service, for
Jean had no further trouble about the horses. And besides one has a
natural liking for a brave man, and this man was brave beyond question.

"You are from Orleans," he said respectfully enough, but as one
asserting a fact, not asking a question.

"Yes," I answered, somewhat astonished, "Did you see us come in?"

"No, but I looked at your boots, gentlemen," he replied. "White dust,
north; red dust, south. Do you see?"

"Yes, I see," I said, with admiration. "You must have been brought up
in a sharp school, M. Bure."

"Sharp masters make sharp scholars," he replied, grinning. And that
answer I had occasion to remember afterwards.

"You are from Orleans, also?" I asked, as we prepared to go in.

"Yes, from Orleans too, gentlemen. But earlier in the day. With
letters--letters of importance!" And bestowing something like a wink
of confidence on us, he drew himself up, looked sternly at the
stable-folk, patted himself twice on the chest, and finally twirled his
moustaches, and smirked at the girl above, who was chewing straws.

I thought it likely enough that we might find it hard to get rid of
him. But this was not so. After listening with gratification to our
repeated thanks, he bowed with the same grotesque flourish, and marched
off as grave as a Spaniard, humming--

"Ce petit homme tant joli!
Qui toujours cause et toujours rit,
Qui toujours baise sa mignonne,
Dieu gard' de mal ce petit homme!"

On our going in, the landlord met us politely, but with curiosity