There was, true enough, some difference.  The descendants of gentry were on the average marked with at least physical endowments quite distinctly above the rest of the race.  But there was a ridiculous side, for I recognized some about whom my grandmother was used to make merry, such as the youth who could “trace his ancestry five ways to Charles the Fat,” and the stout-built brothers in whose family there was a rule “never to strike a man twice to knock him down.”.  My grandmother said that “those who could not knock him down kept the tradition by not striking him once!”

Mde.  De Rheims now introduced me to two people simultaneously—­Sir Georges Mondelet, Chief-Justice, and the ruddy lady, Mde.  Fauteux of Quebec.  The Chief Justice was of that good old type, at sight of which the word gentil-homme springs naturally to one’s lips He was small in figure, but his features were clearly cut, and the falling of the cheeks and deepening of lines produced by approach of age, had but imparted to them an increased, repose.  His clear gaze and fine balance of expression denoted that remarkable common sense and personal honor for which I divined his judgments and conduct must be respected.  His smile was charming, and displayed a set of well-preserved teeth.  The few words he spoke to me were not remarkable.  They were simple and kind like his movements.

To Mde.  Fauteux I offered my arm, and conducted her into the large conservatory opening off the parlors, where we walked.

“Is it not a great privilege, Monsieur, to be an Englishman?” she began with polite banter.  “You are the conquerors, the millionaires; yours are the palaces, and the high and honorable places!  But you, Monsieur, you are not too proud to patronize our little receptions.”

“Pardon me, Madame, I am not English.”

“Is that true?  But you have the air.”

“There is no air I could prefer to that of a man like Sir Georges Mondelet.”

“Nor I too, in seriousness.  That is the true French gentleman.  He cares little even for his title, and prefers to be called Mr. Mondelet, holding his judicial office in greater esteem.  I once heard him say in joke, ‘that there could be many Knights but only one Chief Justice.’”

“That is true,” I said.

“Yes, it is true,” she echoed.  “Law is a noble philosophy, and its profession the most brilliant of the highways to fame.”

“Do you know,” she continued, “that we inherit our law from the Romans.  This beautiful system, this philosophic justice of our Province, is the imperial legacy bequeathed us by that Empire in which we once took our share as rulers of the world—­the shadow of the mighty wings under which our ancestors reposed.  We all have Roman, blood in our veins.  Do you see that face there?—­that is a Roman face.  Our Church speaks Latin, and looks to the city of Caesar.  Our own speech is a Latin tongue.  The classics of our young men’s study are still those that were current on the Forum.  Our law is Roman law.”