The painter was also in sight.
While he was coming up, Lord Ipsden was lecturing Marshal Saunders on a point on which that worthy had always thought himself very superior to his master—“Gentlemanly deportment.”
“Now, Saunders, mind and behave like a gentleman, or we shall be found out.”
“I trust, my lord, my conduct—”
“What I mean is, you must not be so overpoweringly gentleman-like as you are apt to be; no gentleman is so gentleman as all that; it could not be borne, c'est suffoquant; and a white handkerchief is unsoldier-like, and nobody ties a white handkerchief so well as that; of all the vices, perfection is the most intolerable.” His lordship then touched with his cane the generalissimo's tie, whose countenance straightway fell, as though he had lost three successive battles.
Gatty came up.
They saluted.
“Where is your second, sir?” said the mare'chal.
“My second?” said Gatty. “Ah! I forgot to wake him—does it matter?”
“It is merely a custom,” said Lord Ipsden, with a very slightly satirical manner. “Savanadero,” said he, “do us the honor to measure the ground, and be everybody's second.”