I smiled; for I could not conceive two men more different in appearance—in complexion—in eyes, in height; for I was much taller, and dark, while he was fair; but still the good Father’s words lingered in my mind, and I determined the next time I saw my friend to learn, if possible, something more of his history.
It was with great satisfaction then that, on the Friday morning, I received a note from Westover, asking me to dine with him, either on the Tuesday or the Wednesday following, and to name which day.
“Do come, De Lacy, on the one day or the other; for there are some people, who will come on either day, to whom I much wish to introduce you. My leave will soon expire, and I may not have another opportunity.”
I immediately answered his note, fixing the first named day, and then, as it was a beautiful morning in the spring, I went out to fish in a river which ran at some miles distant from my cottage, and where I had hired a right—for the English are as tenacious of the right of stream and wood as any old feudal lord that ever lived.
I had been engaged in the sport for about an hour, wandering along through the beautiful meadows, and had done tolerably well, when I saw a gentleman, of the middle age, walk slowly across from the other side, and pause upon a little wooden bridge, observing my proceedings. He was a tall, handsome man, about fifty, but thin and pale, dressed in a sort of military blue coat, richly braided, but not very new; and his air was exceedingly gentlemanly and prepossessing, though his riches were evidently of Nature’s giving, not the world’s. After watching me a few minutes, he came up with easy grace, and asked, with a strong foreign accent, “If I had had good sport.”
I replied that it had been pretty well, adding a French proverb of no particular significance.
“Ha!” he said, “have I the pleasure of speaking to a countryman?”
I replied in the affirmative; and he soon began to ask all sorts of questions, in that courteous manner which renders inquisitiveness not impertinent in a Frenchman. I told him I had quitted France very early, and recollected but little of my native land; to which he replied, that was a “malheur,” asking the year of my emigration.
I told him, and he replied, with a smile, that it was the same in which he had left France; but added, that he had returned there since, and fought in La Vendee. He then asked me if I knew many of my countrymen. I replied in the negative, saying with a smile—for the opportunity seemed too good to be missed—that there were only two, whom I had known so well in my boyhood as to make me very anxious to hear of them again.
“May I be permitted to ask their names?” he said, quietly. “I am acquainted with several, though, indeed, not very many; for my means are too limited to allow of my mingling much in society.”