Pisistratus.—“Yes—and hard.”
Stranger.—“I am ready to work, then.”
Pisistratus.—“Good. Now, what can you do?”
Stranger (with his odd smile).—“Many things useful. I can split a bullet on a penknife; I know the secret tierce of Coulon, the fencing-master; I can speak two languages (besides English) like a native, even to their slang; I know every game in the cards; I can act comedy, tragedy, farce; I can drink down Bacchus himself; I can make any woman I please in love with me,—that is, any woman good for nothing. Can I earn a handsome livelihood out of all this,—wear kid gloves and set up a cabriolet? You see my wishes are modest!”
Pisistratus.—“You speak two languages, you say, like a native,—French, I suppose, is one of them?”
Stranger.—“Yes.”
Pisistratus.—“Will you teach it?”
Stranger (haughtily). “No. Je suis gentilhomme, which means more or less than a gentleman. Gentilhomme means well born, because free born; teachers are slaves!”
Pisistratus (unconsciously imitating Mr. Trevanion).—“Stuff!”
Stranger (looks angry, and then laughs).—“Very true; stilts don’t suit shoes like these! But I cannot teach. Heaven help those I should teach! Anything else?”