“Thought so,” rejoined Sir Moses, who prided himself upon his penetration. “I’ll have a word with him when he comes in again,” continued he. Tea followed quickly on the heels of coffee, Monsieur coming in after Bankhead. Monsieur now consequentially drank, and dressed much in the manner that he is in the picture of the glove scene at Yammerton Grange. “_Ah, Monsieur! comment vous portez-vous?_” exclaimed the Baronet, which was about as much French as he could raise. “Pretty middlin’, tenk you, sare,” replied Jack, bowing and grinning at the compliment. “What, you speak English, do you?” asked the Baronet, thinking he might as well change the language. “I spake it, sare, some small matter, sare,” replied Jack, with a shrug of his shoulders—“Not nothing like my modder’s tongue, you knows.” “Ah! you speak it domd well,” replied Sir Moses. “Let you and I have a talk together. Tell me, now, were you ever out hunting?” _Jean Rougier_. “Oh, yes, sare, I have been at the chasse of de small dicky-bird—tom-tit—cock-robin—vot you call.” _Sir Moses_ (laughing). “No, no, that is not the sort of chace I mean; I mean, have you ever been out fox-hunting?” _Jean Rougier_ (confidentially). “Nevare, sare—nevare.” Sir Moses. “Ah, my friend, then you’ve a great pleasure to come to—a great pleasure to come to, indeed. Well, you’re a domd good feller, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do—I’ll tell you what I’ll do—I’ll mount you to-morrow—domd if I won’t—you shall ride my old horse, Cockatoo—carry you beautifully. What d’ye ride? Thirteen stun, I should say,” looking Jack over, “quite up to that—quite up to that—stun above it, for that matter. You’ll go streaming away like a bushel of beans.” “Oh, sare, I tenk you, sare,” replied Jack, “but I have not got my hunting apparatus—my mosquet—my gun, my—no, not notin at all.” “Gun!” exclaimed Sir Moses, amidst the laughter of the company. “Why, you wouldn’t shoot the fox, would ye?” “_Certainement_” replied Jack. “I should pop him over.” “Oh, the devil!” exclaimed Sir Moses, throwing up his hands in astonishment. “Why, man, we keep the hounds on purpose to hunt him.” “Silly fellers,” replied Jack, “you should pepper his jacket.” “Ah, Monsieur, I see you have a deal to learn,” rejoined Sir Moses, laughing. “However, it’s never too late to begin—never too late to begin, and you shall take your first lesson to-morrow. I’ll mount you on old Cockatoo, and you shall see how we manage these matters in England.” “Oh, sare, I tenk you moch,” replied Jack, again excusing himself. “But I have not got no breeches, no boot-jacks—no notin, _comme il faut_.”