Calais worse fare than you bird," said old
Mr. Eustace of Saint Peter's. "Marry, sirs, when my Lord King Edward
laid siege to us, lucky was he who could get a slice of horse for his
breakfast, and a rat was sold at the price of a hare."

"Hare is coarse food, never tasted rat," remarked the Beau.
"Table-d'hote poor fare enough for a man like me, who has been
accustomed to the best of cookery. But rat--stifle me! I couldn't
swallow that: never could bear hardship at all."

"We had to bear enough when my Lord of England pressed us. 'Twas pitiful
to see the faces of our women as the siege went on, and hear the little
ones asking for dinner."

"Always a bore, children. At dessert, they are bad enough, but at dinner
they're the deuce and all," remarked Mr. Brummell.

Messire Eustace of St. Peter's did not seem to pay much attention to the
Beau's remarks, but continued his own train of thought as old men will
do.

"I hear," said he, "that there has actually been no war between us of
France and you men of England for wellnigh fifty year. Ours has ever
been a nation of warriors. And besides her regular found men-at-arms,
'tis said the English of the present time have more than a hundred
thousand of archers with weapons that will carry for half a mile. And
a multitude have come amongst us of late from a great Western country,
never so much as heard of in my time--valiant men and great drawers of
the long bow, and they say they have ships in armor that no shot can
penetrate. Is it so? Wonderful; wonderful! The best armor, gossips, is a
stout heart."

"And if ever manly heart beat under shirt-frill, thine is that heart,
Sir Eustace!" cried Mr. Sterne, enthusiastically.

"We, of France, were never accused of lack of courage, sir, in so far as
I know," said Messire Eustace. "We have shown as much in a thousand
wars with you English by sea and land; and sometimes we conquered, and
sometimes, as is the fortune of war, we were discomfited. And notably
in a great sea-fight which befell off Ushant on the first of June --
Our Admiral, messire Villaret de Joyeuse, on board his galleon named the
'Vengeur,' being sore pressed by an English bombard, rather than yield
the crew of his ship to mercy, determined to go down with all on board
of her: and to the cry of Vive la Repub--or, I would say, of Notre Dame
a la Rescousse, he and his crew all sank to an immortal grave--"

"Sir," said I, looking with amazement at the old gentleman, "