"No, it is in English. I compose alvays in English since dat Monstair have maltreat me. I recite it: listen:
"'De moon, she shine in de sky
O lovely! O sharming!
Ven I look, vat can I? I sigh.
Vat fine zing for farming!'
"I explain dat: Your so difficult language have not good rhymes: and dere needs one for 'sharming.' I recollect myself to have seen de farmers making hay by de moonlight. Dat also vas sharming sight, so I put him in my verse."
"First-rate," said Jack. "Go on; I like that bit."
"I have no more complete at present. It take so much to seek your English rhymes. Now in my language—"
And Monsieur de Fronsac began a long course on French poetry, keeping up a steady flow of talk which lasted till they reached the Grange. Not till they were entering the drawing-room together did Jack remember the question he had gone to ask.
"Well, Jack, I'm right, eh?" called Mr. Bastable.
"'Pon my life, cousin, I forgot to ask. Monsieur has been entertaining me with poetry and things, and drove the question clean out of my head. Where did William the Conqueror sail from, Monsieur?"
"I do not know, I regret to say."
Mr. Bastable laughed.