"Of the Crespins of Kent, eh?" he said. "The Crespins--a fair, good family. I knew Sir Nicholas, who fell at the Boyne. What was he to you?"
"My uncle, sir. The late king gave me my guidon in the Cuirassiers because of his service."
"Good! He could do no less. Your uncle was a solid man--trustworthy. If he said he would do a thing, he did it--or died. 'Twas thus in Ireland. You remember?"
"I remember, sir. He said he would take prisoner Tyrconnel with his own hands, and would have done it had not a bullet found his brain."
"I do believe he would. Are you as trustworthy as he?"
"Try me," and I looked him straight in the face.
"Maybe I will. A little later," and even as he spoke fell a-musing, while he drank some schnapps, which was his native drink, and on which, they say, these Hollanders are weaned--from a little glass. Then soon spake again:
"What languages have you? Any besides your own?"
"I have the French. Also some Spanish. My grandmother was of Spanish descent, and dwelt with us in Kent. She taught me."
"Humph!" And again he mused, then again went on, though now--doubtless to see if my French was any good, and to try me--he spoke in that tongue.