"I knew your father by name—Colonel Sidney Weyburn. You lost him at Toulouse. We were in the Peninsula; I was at Talavera with him. Bad day for our cavalry."
"Our officers were young at their work then."
"They taught the Emperor's troops to respect a charge of English horse.
It was teaching their fox to set traps for them."
Lord Ormont indicated a chair. He stood.
"The French had good cavalry leaders," Weyburn said, for cover to a continued study of the face,
"Montbrun, yes: Murat, Lassalle, Bessieres. Under the Emperor they had."
"You think them not at home in the saddle, my lord?"
"Frenchmen have nerves; horses are nerves. They pile excitement too high. When cool, they're among the best. None of them had head for command of all the arms."
"One might say the same of Seidlitz and Ziethen?"
"Of Ziethen. Seidlitz had a wider grasp, I suppose." He pursed his month, pondering. "No; and in the Austrian service, too; generals of cavalry are left to whistle for an independent command. There's a jealousy of our branch!" The injured warrior frowned and hummed. He spoke his thought mildly: "Jealousy of the name of soldier in this country! Out of the service, is the place to recommend. I'd have advised a son of mine to train for a jockey rather than enter it. We deal with that to-morrow, in my papers. You come to me? Mr. Abner has arranged the terms? So I see you at ten in the morning. I am glad to meet a young man—Englishman—who takes an interest in the service."