“Not I, my lord; to own the truth, I’m no scholar, and am entirely without ambition in that way.  ‘Sans,’ I suppose, is the French for ‘saint’; but who ‘Culottes’ was, I’ve not the least notion.”

Nelson smiled, and the turn the conversation had taken appeared to give him secret satisfaction.  If the truth were known, something lay heavily on his mind; and, with one of his strong impulses, his feelings disposed him to rush from one extreme to the other, as is often the case with men who are controlled by such masters; more especially if their general disposition is to the right.

“You’re wrong this time, my dear Cuffe,” he said; “for ‘sans’ means ‘without’ in French, and ‘culottes’ means ‘breeches.’  Think of naming a three-decker the ‘Without Breeches’!  I do not see how any respectable flag-officer can mention such names in his despatches without a feeling of awkwardness that must come near to capsizing all his philosophy.  The line was formed by the Republic’s ship, the ‘That’ll Do,’ leading, supported by the ‘Without Breeches,’ as her second astern!—­Ha!  Cuffe—­D—­e, sir, if I’d serve in a marine that had such names to the ships!  It’s a thousand times worse than all those saints the Spaniards tack on to their vessels—­like a line of boats towing a ship up to her moorings!”

Here the conversation was interrupted by the appearance of a midshipman, who came down to say that a man and a woman from the shore wished to see the rear-admiral on pressing business.

“Let them come down, sir,” answered Nelson; “I’ve a hard life of it, Cuffe; there is not a washerwoman or a shopkeeper in Naples who does not treat me exactly as if I were a podesta, and it were my duty to hear all the contentions about lost clothes and mislaid goods.  His Majesty must appoint a Lord Chief Justice of the Steerage, to administer the law for the benefit of the young gentlemen, or he’ll soon get no officer to serve with a flag at his mast-head.”

“Surely, my lord, the captains can take this weight off your shoulders!”

“Aye, there are men in the fleet that can, and there are men who do; but there are men who do not.  But here comes the plaintiff, I suppose—­you shall hear the case, and act as a puisne judge in the matter.”

This was said as the cabin-door opened, and the expected guests entered.  They were a man turned of fifty and a girl of nineteen.  The former was a person of plain exterior, abstracted air, and downcast look; but the latter had all the expression, beauty, nature, and grace of mien that so singularly marked the deportment and countenance of Ghita Caraccioli[5].  In a word, the two visitors were Carlo Giuntotardi and his gentle niece.  Nelson was struck with the modesty of mien and loveliness of the latter, and he courteously invited her to be seated, though he and Cuffe both continued standing.  A few efforts at making himself understood, however, soon satisfied this renowned