have broken my orders."

"Names should be avoided in the open air," answered the man, who was

swinging on a gate with the simple delight of a Picard. "The climate is

of France so much to-night that I found it my duty to encourage it.

For what reason shall not I do that? It is not so often that I have

occasion. My dear friend, scold not, but accept the compliment very

seldom truthful to your native land. There are none of your clod-pates

about to-night."

"Come in at once. The mere sound of your breath is enough to set the

neighbourhood wondering. Could I ever have been burdened with a more

French Frenchman, though you speak as good English as I do?"

"It was all of that miserable Cheray," the French gentleman said, when

they sat in the kitchen, and Jerry Bowles was feeding the fine black

horse. "Fruit is a thing that my mouth prepares for, directly there is

any warmth in the sun. It puts itself up, it is elevated, it will not

have meat, or any substance coarse. Wine of the softest and fruit of

the finest is what it must then have, or unmouth itself. That miserable

Cheray, his maledictioned name put me forth to be on fire for the good

thing he designs. Cherays you call them, and for cherays I despatched

him, suspended between the leaves in the good sun. Bah! there is nothing

ever fit to eat in England. The cherays look very fine, very fine

indeed; and so many did I consume that to travel on a gate was the

only palliation. Would you have me stay all day in this long cellar?

No diversion, no solace, no change, no conversation! Old Cheray may

sit with his hands upon his knees, but to Renaud Charron that is not

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