So I was to owe my life to Goguelat at every point.

‘I had rather not discuss it,’ said I.

‘Well,’ said he, ’one word more, and I’ll agree to bury the subject.  What did you fight about?’

‘Oh, what do men ever fight about?’ I cried.

‘A lady?’ said he.

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Deuce you did!’ said he.  ’I should scarce have thought it of him.’

And at this my ill-humour broke fairly out in words.  ‘He!’ I cried.  ’He never dared to address her—­only to look at her and vomit his vile insults!  She may have given him sixpence:  if she did, it may take him to heaven yet!’

At this I became aware of his eyes set upon me with a considering look, and brought up sharply.

‘Well, well,’ said he.  ’Good night to you, Champdivers.  Come to me at breakfast-time to-morrow, and we’ll talk of other subjects.’

I fully admit the man’s conduct was not bad:  in writing it down so long after the events I can even see that it was good.

CHAPTER IV—­ST. IVES GETS A BUNDLE OF BANK NOTES

I was surprised one morning, shortly after, to find myself the object of marked consideration by a civilian and a stranger.  This was a man of the middle age; he had a face of a mulberry colour, round black eyes, comical tufted eyebrows, and a protuberant forehead; and was dressed in clothes of a Quakerish cut.  In spite of his plainness, he had that inscrutable air of a man well-to-do in his affairs.  I conceived he had been some while observing me from a distance, for a sparrow sat betwixt us quite unalarmed on the breech of a piece of cannon.  So soon as our eyes met, he drew near and addressed me in the French language, which he spoke with a good fluency but an abominable accent.

’I have the pleasure of addressing Monsieur le Vicomte Anne de Keroual de Saint-Yves?’ said he.

‘Well,’ said I, ’I do not call myself all that; but I have a right to, if I chose.  In the meanwhile I call myself plain Champdivers, at your disposal.  It was my mother’s name, and good to go soldiering with.’

‘I think not quite,’ said he; ’for if I remember rightly, your mother also had the particle.  Her name was Florimonde de Champdivers.’

‘Right again!’ said I, ’and I am extremely pleased to meet a gentleman so well informed in my quarterings.  Is monsieur Born himself?’ This I said with a great air of assumption, partly to conceal the degree of curiosity with which my visitor had inspired me, and in part because it struck me as highly incongruous and comical in my prison garb and on the lips of a private soldier.

He seemed to think so too, for he laughed.

‘No, sir,’ he returned, speaking this time in English; ’I am not “Born,” as you call it, and must content myself with dying, of which I am equally susceptible with the best of you.  My name is Mr. Romaine—­Daniel Romaine—­a solicitor of London City, at your service; and, what will perhaps interest you more, I am here at the request of your great-uncle, the Count.’