The stranger deliberately emptied his pipe and thrust it into his pocket, while the landlord impatiently awaited the response to his pointed query. When it came, however, it was not calculated to allay the curiosity of his questioner.
“Is it your practice,” said the young man coldly, in slow but excellent English, “to bark continuously at the heels of your guests?”
“Oh, no offense meant! No offense! Hope none’ll be taken,” stammered the landlord.
Then he recovered himself and his dignity by drawing forth a huge wine-colored silk handkerchief, set with white polka-dots, and ostentatiously and vigorously using it. This ear-splitting operation having once more set him up in his own esteem, he resumed his attentions to the stranger.
“I didn’t know,” he added with an outburst of honesty, “but what you might be some nobleman in disguise.”
“A nobleman!” said the other with ill-concealed contempt. “My name is Saint-Prosper; plain Ernest Saint-Prosper. I was a soldier. Now I’m an adventurer. There you have it all in a nut-shell.”
The inn-keeper surveyed his guest’s figure with undisguised admiration.
“Well, you look like a soldier,” he remarked. “You are like one of those soldiers who came over from France to help us in the Revolution.”
This tribute being silently accepted, the landlord grew voluble as his guest continued reserved.