St. Ives: Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England

ry colour, round black eyes, comical tufted eyebrows, and a protuberant forehead; and was dressed in clothes of a Quakerish cut. In spite of his plainness, he had that inscrutable air

essed me in the French language, which he spok

ing Monsieur le Vicomte Anne de

, if I chose. In the meanwhile I call myself plain Champdivers, at yo

mber rightly, your mother also had the parti

self?' This I said with a great air of assumption, partly to conceal the degree of curiosity with which my visitor had inspired

hink so too, f

ng, of which I am equally susceptible with the best of you. My name is Mr. Romaine-Daniel Romaine-a solicitor of London C

ber the existence of such a person as myself, and will

ish well,' obse

an English nurse; my father spoke English with me; and I was finish

of interest came int

ied, 'you kne

id I; 'and shared his hidi

an! It was on the affairs of M. de Kéroual that he went to that accursed country

call chauffeurs. In a word, he was tortured, and died of it. See,' I added, kicking off one shoe

with a certain shrinking. 'Beastly pe

so with a good grace,

ety per cent. of our visitors would have accepted the remark as natural in itself

rely a fool, I pe

d I; 'not

'It is a dangerous instrument. Your great-uncle has, I believe, pra

al inquiry,' said I. 'To what do I owe the pleasure of this vis

irts, the lawyer took a seat be

e, I'll answer the second question first. It was from a ce

I resemble him adv

leave you to judge. When he first brought the news of your-that you were serving Buonaparte, it seemed it might be the death of the old gentleman, so hot was his resentment. But from one thing to another, matters have a little changed. Or I should rather say, not a little. We learned you were under orders for the Peninsula, to fight the English; then that you had been commissioned for a piece of bravery, and were again reduced to the ranks. And

k snuff, and looked at me

says I, 'this is

there have two events followed. The first of these w

,' said I: 'it was through

o?' he cried. 'Wh

d it with my eyes open. If a man gets a prisoner to guard

id he. 'You did well for your

ll ere I had helped him, and be sure of that! I saw in him only a private person in a difficulty:

f which, in came your humble servant, and laid before him the direct proof of what we had been so long suspecting. There was no dubiety permitted. M. Alain's expensive way of life, his clothes and mistresses, his dicing and racehorses, were all explained: he was in the pay of Buonaparte, a

understand by

can live without chick or child, they can live without all mankind except perhaps the barber and the apothecary; but when it comes to dying, they seem physically una

a very unfavourable impress

life-sadly loose-but he is a man it is impossible t

ere is actually a ch

ave been clothed with no capacity to talk of wills, or heritages, or your cousin. I was sent

s by which we sat surrounded, 'this is a case in w

have not yet told you that he is quite broken up, and his death shortly looked for

of course, and by trade, a keeper of men's secrets, and I see you keep that of C

the lawyer of you

ry steep; a man might come by a devil of a fall from almost any part of it, and yet I believe I have

turned the lawyer. 'Suppose by some contingency, at wh

One word ere you go further.

'although some of you French gentry

ot one of th

rock,' he continued, 'although I may not be able to do much, I believe I can do something to help you on your road. I

' said I, at once

y. I have no acquaintance here in Scotland, or at least' (with a grimace) 'no dishonest ones. But further to the south, about Wakefield, I am told there is a gentleman called Burchell Fenn, who is not so particular as some others, and might be willing

's,' I observed, 'I am perhaps

o far as anything is safe in such a nasty business, you might apply to the man Fenn. You might even, I think, use the Viscount

t game: I have apparently a devil of an opponent in my cousin; and, being a prisoner o

land; Amersham Place itself is very fine; and he has much money, wisely invested. He lives, indeed, like a prince. And of what use is it to him? He has lost all that was worth living for-his family, his country; he has seen his king and queen murdered; he has seen all the

n the beginning, they were even republicans; to the end they could not be persuaded to despair of the people. It was a glorious folly, for which, as a son, I reverence them. First one and then the other perished

understand that one of your blood and experience should serve the Corsican. I cannot under

d passed among wolves, you would have been ov

ne, 'it may be. There are thing

ared abruptly down a flight of steps a