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“She wasn’t young, but she seemed so. Her eyes looked up and out at you earnestly, yet not inquisitively, and more occupied with something in her mind, than with what was before her. In short, she was a lady; not one by virtue of a visit to the gods that rule o’er Buckingham Palace, but by the claims of good breeding and long descent. She puzzled me, eluded me–she reminded me of someone; but who? Someone I liked, because I felt a thrill of admiration whenever I looked at her–but it was no use, I couldn’t remember. I soon found myself talking to her according to St. James–the palace, you know–and at once I entered a bet with my beloved aunt, the dowager–who never refuses to take my offer, though she seldom wins, and she’s ten thousand miles away, and has to take my word for it–that I should find out the history of this Man and Woman before another Christmas morning, which wasn’t more than two months off. You know whether or not I won it, my son.”

I had frequently hinted to Gregory that I was old enough to be his father, and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; and I repeated it at that moment. He nodded good-humouredly, and continued:

“I was born insolent, my s–my ancestor. Well, after I had cleared a space at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe, I began to talk… Oh yes, I did give them a chance occasionally; don’t interrupt…. I gossiped about England, France, the universe. From the brief comments they made I saw they knew all about it, and understood my social argot, all but a few words–is there anything peculiar about any of my words? After having exhausted Europe and Asia I discussed America; talked about Quebec, the folklore of the French Canadians, the ‘voyageurs’ from old Maisonneuve down. All the history I knew I rallied, and was suddenly bowled out. For Malbrouck followed my trail from the time I began to talk, and in ten minutes he had proved me to be a baby in knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated me from the equation. He first tripped me on the training of naval cadets; then on the Crimea; then on the taking of Quebec; then on the Franco-Prussian War; then, with a sudden round-up, on India. I had been trusting to vague outlines of history; I felt when he began to talk that I was dealing with a man who not only knew history, but had lived it. He talked in the fewest but directest words, and waxed eloquent in a blunt and colossal way. But seeing his wife’s eyes fixed on him intently, he suddenly pulled up, and no more did I get from him on the subject. He stopped so suddenly that in order to help over the awkwardness, though I’m not really sure there was any, I began to hum a song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn’t think what I was humming; it was some subterranean association of things, I suppose–but that doesn’t matter here. I only state it to clear myself of any unnecessary insolence. These were the words I was maundering with this noble voice of mine:

“‘The news I bring, fair Lady,
Will make your tears run down

Put off your rose-red dress so fine
And doff your satin gown!

Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas!
And buried, too, for aye;

I saw four officers who bore
His mighty corse away.
………….
We saw above the laurels,
His soul fly forth amain.

And each one fell upon his face
And then rose up again.

And so we sang the glories,
For which great Malbrouck bled;
Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine,
Great Malbrouck, he is dead.’

“I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs. Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would make angels sorry–a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleeping pain. What an ass I was! Why, the Man’s name was Malbrouck; her name was Malbrouck–awful insolence! But surely there was something in the story of the song itself that had moved her. As I afterward knew, that was it. Malbrouck sat still and unmoved, though I thought I saw something stern and masterful in his face as he turned to me; but again instantly his eyes were bent on his wife with a comforting and affectionate expression. She disappeared into the house. Hoping to make it appear that I hadn’t noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and went on, intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse: