His
cloak was ragged, his trunk hose, which had once been fine
enough, were stained, and almost pointless, He swaggered
inimitably, and had led-captain written large upon him. But he
had done us a service, for Jean had no further trouble about the
horses. And besides one has a natural liking for a brave man,
and this man was brave beyond question.
"You are from Orleans," he said respectfully enough, but as one
asserting a fact, not asking a question.
"Yes," I answered, somewhat astonished, "Did you see us come in?"
"No, but I looked at your boots, gentlemen," he replied. "White
dust, north; red dust, south. Do you see?"
"Yes, I see," I said, with admiration. "You must have been
brought up in a sharp school, M. Bure."
"Sharp masters make sharp scholars," he replied, grinning. And
that answer I had occasion to remember afterwards.
"You are from Orleans, also?" I asked, as we prepared to go in.
"Yes, from Orleans too, gentlemen. But earlier in the day. With
letters--letters of importance!" And bestowing something like a
wink of confidence on us, he drew himself up, looked sternly at
the stable-folk, patted himself twice on the chest, and finally
twirled his moustaches, and smirked at the girl above, who was
chewing straws.
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