"Fair sir, little introduction is necessary between us, as, I believe, we have both followed the drum in our time," said the Major, shaking the curls of his Ramilies wig with the air of a man who has decided on what he says.
"I have served, Monsieur," replied the foreigner, "under Marlborough and Eugene."
"Ah! in French Flanders? Landlord—gudeman, harkee; a double stoup of this wine; I have found a comrade to-night—be quick and put my horse to stall, I will not ride hence for an hour or so. What regiment, sir?"
"I was first under Grouvestein in the Horse of Driesberg."
"Then you were on the left of the second column at Ramilies—on that glorious 12th of May," said the Major, drawing the high-backed chair which the host handed him, and spreading out his legs before the fire, which burned merrily in the basket grate on the hearth, "and latterly——"
"Under Wandenberg."
"Ah! an old tyrannical dog."
A dark cloud gathered on the stranger's lofty brow.
"I belonged to the Earl of Orkney's Grey Dragoons," said the Major; "and remember old Wandenberg making a bold charge in that brilliant onfall when we passed the lines of Monsieur le Mareschal Villars at Pont-a-Vendin, and pushed on to the plains of Lens."
"That was before we invested Doway and Fort-Escharpe, where old Albergotti so ably commanded ten thousand well-beaten soldiers."