He turned to the Major, whose food plainly stuck in his throat.
‘Now, sir,’ pursued the clerk, ‘let me have the pleasure to hear your voice again. Where are you going, did you say?’
‘Sare, I am go-ing to Lon-don,’ said the Major.
I could have flung my plate at him to be such an ass, and to have so little a gift of languages where that was the essential.
‘What think ye of that?’ said the clerk. ‘Is that French enough?’
‘Good God!’ cried I, leaping up like one who should suddenly perceive an acquaintance, ‘is this you, Mr. Dubois? Why, who would have dreamed of encountering you so far from home?’ As I spoke, I shook hands with the Major heartily; and turning to our tormentor, ‘Oh, sir, you may be perfectly reassured! This is a very honest fellow, a late neighbour of mine in the city of Carlisle.’
I thought the attorney looked put out; I little knew the man!
‘But he is French,’ said he, ‘for all that?’
‘Ay, to be sure!’ said I. ‘A Frenchman of the emigration! None of your Buonaparte lot. I will warrant his views of politics to be as sound as your own.’
‘What is a little strange,’ said the clerk quietly, ‘is that Mr. Dubois should deny it.’