“Ah, Miss’r Witterly,” said the old Frenchman, with a deprecating shrug and grimace, “zat is not good fon. Miss’r Harrin’ton is vair fine young zhentilman. If he worsheep ze neeger, _pardieu_, Hypolite Bagasse worsheep ze neeger wis him. Zat is only what you call ze attachment zoo libertee. Ah, Miss’r Witterly, zat Miss’r Harrington, so kind, so strong, so good, he is friend of ze neeger, of ze Iris’man, of ze Frenchman, of ze poor fellow, of ze littel child, of ze small fly on ze window, of ze vair old devail himself, of evairybody. See, now. Attend. I was seek—vair seek wis fever in ze winter. Nobody come to me—of my pupeel not one. Zat Miss’r Harrin’ton he come. He find John Todd, and inquire where I live, and he come. He breeng ze doctor—he breeng Miss’r Wentwort’, he breeng ze littel jellee, ze grape, all zem littel ting zat he say ze vair fine ladee give him for ze poor old vair seek Bagasse. _Sacrebleu_, he nurse me; he sit up wis me in ze night when my wife tire herself out wis me, and go sleep; he get me well, and zen he go zoo ze pupeel and make ze subscripsheon for zere old fencing-mastair. Feefty dollair—dam! it is sub-lime! Ze wolf he cut off from ze door of Bagasse so queek as his dam leg will trot! Zen Miss’r Harrin’ton he advise Madame Bagasse zoo keep ze boarding-house. Ah! it is grand. She accept—ze boardair come—ze French, ze Italian, ze German man zey board wis me. Hah! zat Miss’r Harrin’ton he set me up on my leg, wis my heart big wis gratitude. You make mock of zat old coat, Miss’r Witterly. Bah! He wear zat old coat zat so many poor devail sall wear any coat at all. _Sacrebleu!_ was I ze great Nap-oleon, I sall put ze grand cross of ze Legion—ze Legion d’Honneur—on ze breast of zat old coat for evair.” There was such emotion in the deep, hoarse rolling tones—such a dark glow on the grotesque, brown, wrinkled visage—such fire in the one eye under its shaggy eyebrow—such martial energy in the uncouth, shabby figure, that Witherlee felt the danger of pursuing any further his detraction of Harrington. At the same time, he felt an envious itching to continue it. To hear anybody or anything praised, and not be roused to oppositiveness, was not in the organization of Fernando Witherlee. A peculiarly aggravating rejoinder was in his mind, and the temptation to utter it was prodigious. While he hesitated between the temptation and the imminent prospect of having a quarrel on his hands with Monsieur Bagasse, steps and loud talking on the stairs, announcing the approach of pupils, at once decided and relieved him, and he sauntered away to a chair, sinking into which and tilting it back against the wall, he proceeded to select, light and smoke a cigar. CHAPTER III. QUARTE AND TIERCE.