Their grandfather was sitting half turned away from the table, on which were the remains of a meal and several bottles of wine. Before the fire, with his back against the mantelpiece, stood a tall, dark man in a very becoming undress uniform, his hands in his trousers' pockets, a large cigar in his mouth. Sparks shot into his keen black eyes as they leaped eagerly at the boys, devouring them wholesale in one hungry gaze, then travelling rapidly back and forth in assimilation of details.
A foreigner without doubt, said the boys to themselves, as they stared back with interest at the dark, handsome face with its sweeping black moustache and pointed beard.
Sir Denzil tapped his snuff-box and snuffed aloofly.
"Gad, sir, but I think they do me credit!" said the stranger at last, In a voice that sounded somewhat harsh and nasal to ears accustomed to the soft, round tones of the north.
"That's as it may be," said Sir Denzil drily. "Credit where credit is due."
"Sang-d'-Dieu! you will allow me a finger in the pie, at all events, sir!"
"That much, perhaps!"--with a shrug. "That proverbial finger as a rule points more to marring than to making."
"And you've no idea which is which?" And he eyed the boys so keenly that they grew uncomfortable.
"Not the slightest! Have you?"
"I like them both. I'm proud of them both. But it certainly complicates matters having two of them. Suppose you keep one and I take one? How would that do? I'll wager mine goes higher than yours."