ttentively upon his travelling
companion, Ganlesse, he could not help discovering (by the aid of
imagination, perhaps), that though insignificant in person, plain in
features, and dressed like one in indigence, there lurked still about
his person and manners, that indefinable ease of manner which belongs
only to men of birth and quality, or to those who are in the constant
habit of frequenting the best company. His companion, whom he called
Will Smith, although tall and rather good-looking, besides being
much better dressed, had not, nevertheless, exactly the same ease of
demeanour; and was obliged to make up for the want, by an additional
proportion of assurance. Who these two persons could be, Peveril could
not attempt even to form a guess. There was nothing for it but to watch
their manner and conversation.

After speaking a moment in whispers, Smith said to his companion, "We
must go look after our nags for ten minutes, and allow Chaubert to do
his office."

"Will not he appear, and minister before us, then?" said Ganlesse.

"What! he?--he shift a trencher--he hand a cup?--No, you forget whom
you speak of. Such an order were enough to make him fall on his own
sword--he is already on the borders of despair, because no craw-fish are
to be had."

"Alack-a day!" replied Ganlesse. "Heaven forbid I should add to such
a calamity! To stable, then, and see we how our steeds eat their
provender, while ours is getting ready."

They adjourned to the stable accordingly, which, though a poor one, had
been hastily supplied with whatever was necessary for the accommodation
of four excellent horses; one of which, that from which Ganlesse was
just dismounted, the groom we have mentioned was cleaning and dressing
by the light of a huge wax-candle.

"I am still so far Catholic," said Ganlesse, laughing, as he saw that
Peveril noticed this piece of extravagance. "My horse is my saint, and I
dedicate a candle to him."

"Without asking so great a favour for mine, which I see standing behind
yonder old hen-coop," replied Peveril, "I will at least relieve him of
his saddle and bridle."

"Leave him to the lad of the inn," said Smith; "he is not worthy of any
other person's handling; and I promise you, if you slip a single buckle,
you will so flavour of that stable duty, that you might as well eat
roast-beef as ragouts, for any relish you will have of them."

"I love roast-beef as well as ragouts, at any time," said Peveril,
adjus