“Keep your temper, José,” said Cashel, with an indescribable assumption of insolent superiority; “or, if you cannot, keep your courage for the students, whose broils best suit you.”
“You presume somewhat too far on your skill with the rapier, Senhor Cashel,” said the other, but in a voice far less elevated than before.
“You can test the presumption at any moment,” said Cashel, insolently; “now, if you like it.”
“Oh, Mr. Cashel! oh, Mr. Roland! for mercy's sake, don't!” exclaimed Simms.
“Never fear,” interposed Cashel; “that excellent young man has better principles than you fancy, and never neglects, though he sometimes forgets, himself.”
So saying, he leisurely passed his arm beneath Simms's, and led him forward.
“Good day, Senhor Cashel,” said a tall and well-dressed man, who made his salutations with a certain air of distinction that induced Simms to inquire who and what he was.
“A general in the service of one of the minor States of Germany,” said Cashel; “a man of great professional skill, and, it is said, of great personal bravery.”
“And in what capacity is he here?”
“A refugee. His sentence to be shot was commuted to imprisonment for life. He made his escape from Spandau, and came here.”