“You have travelled, sir, and know well what foreigners are,” said he, in a whisper; “and although all these are gentlemen by birth, from one misfortune or other they are a bit down in the world now, and they look with jealousy at any one better off than themselves.”
“Foreigners are usually better bred than to exhibit such feelings,” said I.
“Nor would they, perhaps, sir, if at home and in prosperity; but so many are ruined now by wars and revolutions—so many banished and exiled—that one ought to make large allowances for their tempers. That old man yonder, for instance, was a duke somewhere in Brittany; and the thin, tall one, that is gesticulating with his stick, served as colonel in the bodyguard of the King of France. And there, next the fire,—you see he has taken off a kind of smock-frock and is drying it at the blaze,—that is a Pomeranian count who owned a principality once, they tell me.”
“He looks very poor now; what means of support has he?”
“None, I believe, sir; he was bred to nothing, and can neither teach drawing, nor music, nor the sword-exercise, like Frenchmen or Italians; and the consequence is, that he actually—you 'll not believe it, but it is true, notwithstanding—he actually sweeps a crossing at Cheapside for his living.”
I started, as he said this, as if I had been stung by a reptile. For a moment I was convinced that the speech was a designed insult. I thought that the very expression of his eyes as he turned them on me was malignant. It was all I could do not to resent the insolence; but I restrained myself and was silent.
“Heaven knows,” continued he, “if he have eaten once to-day.”
“Do you think,” said I, “it would be possible to induce him to join me at supper,—I mean, could it be managed without offence?”
“Egad! I should say so, sir, and easily enough, too. These poor fellows have gone through too much to carry any excess of pride about with them.”
“Would you undertake the office, then?” asked I.