"Probably they won't know you again in your uniform, Jack."
"Do you wear a dirk, cousin, and a belt with pistols in it?" asked Arthur eagerly.
"You may be sure he does," said Mr. Bastable; "looks a regular bucaneer, I've no doubt. You'll give old Gudgeon the flutters if he sees you in all your war-paint, Jack."
"Oh, come now, cousin!" protested Jack. "Our fellows don't look half so fierce as you yeomen. Boney will be terrified if he catches sight of your big hats and red coats."
"De uniform of de yeomen is ver' fine," said Monsieur de Fronsac, smiling. "It is quite beautiful. Dat is vat I say to Monsieur Arthur; dat de Monstair Bonaparte vill tr-r-emble ven he see de brave English yeomen."
Jack was interested in Monsieur de Fronsac. He had never met a Frenchman before, and he studied him as he might have studied a strange animal. After lunch he spent some time with the tutor, and learned something of his history. It appeared that on leaving France, a few years before, he had gone to live on his estates in Martinique, hoping there to escape the dangers to which, as a royalist, he would be exposed at home. But on the advent of Napoleon Bonaparte to power his property had been confiscated by the Bonapartist governor. He himself had been proscribed; he fled to Jamaica, thence to London. It was hard for poor émigrés to pick up a living. Happening to hear that a school in Wynport required a teacher of mathematics he had come down from London, only to find that the place had been filled. But luckily Mr. Bastable was at the time in search of a tutor for his son. De Fronsac heard of it from the master of Wynport school: he applied and was accepted.
"But I hope vun day to get back my estates, ven dat Monstair, dat impertinent from Corsica, lose his life, or ven he shall be reject from de throne he goes so impudent to seize."
Jack became a little tired of Monsieur de Fronsac's references to the Monstair. He never spoke of Bonaparte without tacking on the epithet. Of course, he had good reason for hating the First Consul if he had lost all his property and been compelled to teach for a living; but it was not the English way to call names—and always the same name. Jack set it down as one of the peculiarities of Frenchmen.
That evening, after dinner, the conversation once more came back to the subject which was then discussed more often than any other among the good people of the south coast—the expected landing of the French. Mr. Bastable was inclined to think that with so long a coast-line open to him, and so many possible landing-places, Bonaparte would only have to choose his time carefully to be able, with any kind of luck, to make his descent. But Jack scoffed at the idea.
"What about Nelson, and Collingwood, and Keith, cousin? They'd smash him before he got half-way across."