“That is not saying much for their books,” said L’Isle contemptuously.  “Their literature is much overvalued.  Its chief merits are variety and bulk.”

“Do you think so?  That is not the opinion I have heard expressed.”

“Very true.  The world is full of false opinions and bad taste.  But a literature, whose great epic poem is the Henriade, may be abundant but cannot be rich.  A language, in which you cannot make verse without the jingle of rhyme, may be clear and copious, but is wanting in melody and force.  Take away from French literature Gil Blas and the memoires, and were all the rest lost, its place might be easily filled with something better.  With these exceptions, there is little worth doing into English or any other tongue.  And after all, Gil Blas is only a renegade Spaniard in a French uniform; and, undoubtedly, it is not genius, but merely their intense vanity and egotism, that enables them to excel in writing their own memoirs.  Besides, unlike most other people, their books are as immoral as themselves.”

“Well,” said Lady Mabel, looking at him in some surprise, yet half convinced of the truth of what he had been saying.  “It must certainly be a great comfort to you to entertain so thorough a contempt and dislike for the people you have to fight against.”

“Perhaps it is,” said L’Isle, laughing at her observation and his own warmth.  “It may not be in the spirit of Christianity or of chivalry, but it is exceedingly true to our nature, to dislike our enemies, and heartily, too.  But to return to our subject.  You wish to learn Spanish, and I can provide you a capable and zealous teacher.”

“I am much obliged to you; where is he to be found?”

“I will bring him here, any day and hour you may appoint.”

“Then I will fix an early hour, and take a lesson every day.”

“The truth is,” said L’Isle, hesitating and somewhat confused, “it is very difficult to find a Spaniard who speaks English well enough to teach you his own tongue.”

“But you said just now that would find me such a master.”

“But not a Spaniard.  I hear,” said L’Isle, putting a bold face on the matter, “that several of my brother officers have been permitted to make themselves useful to you in various capacities.  For instance, on looking round this room, I see more than one achievement of Captain Cranfield’s, and hear that Major Lumley’s skill in music has been called into play.  Now I am behind no one in zeal for your service.”

“So you, yourself, are the Spanish master, whom you, yourself, would recommend?”

“I assure you I do not know where to find another.”

“Your offer is exceedingly tempting,” said Lady Mabel, bowing ironically low.  “But I am too much in debt already to the gentlemen in his majesty’s service.  To turn one of his colonels into my Spanish master would be seriously to misemploy his precious time.  I would feel that I was robbing my country.  Is it not positive treason to aid and abet the king’s enemies?  Then it is negative treason, to divert from his service any of the king’s friends.”