Determined, however, to make his excursion subservient to profit in his old vocation, he provided himself with some pounds of tobacco and a little parcel of silk handkerchiefs, to dispose of amongst the country-people, with which, and a little bag of meal slung at his back, and a walking-stick in his hand, he presented himself at my door just as the day was breaking. ‘We ‘ll have a wet day I fear, Jerry,’ said I, looking out. ‘Not a bit of it,’ replied he. ‘Tis the spring-tides makes it cloudy there beyant; but when the sun gets up it will be a fine mornin’; but I ‘m thinkin’ ye ‘re strange in them parts’; and this he said with a keen, sharp glance under his eyes. ‘Donegal is new to me, I confess,’ said I guardedly. ‘Yes, and the rest of Ireland, too,’ said he, with a roguish leer. ‘But come along, we ‘ve a good step before us;’ and with these words he led the way down the stairs, holding the balustrade as he went, and exhibiting every sign of age and weakness. Once in the street, however, he stepped out more freely, and, before we got clear of the town, walked at a fair pace, and, to all seeming, with perfect ease. CHAPTER XXVI. A REMNANT OF ‘FONTENOY’ There was no resisting the inquisitive curiosity of my companion. The short dry cough, the little husky ‘ay,’ that sounded like anything rather than assent, which followed on my replies to his questions, and, more than all, the keen, oblique glances of his shrewd grey eyes, told me that I had utterly failed in all my attempts at mystification, and that he read me through and through. ‘And so,’ said he, at last, after a somewhat lengthy narrative of my shipwreck, ‘and so the Flemish sailors wear spurs?’ ‘Spurs! of course not; why should they?’ asked I, in some astonishment. ‘Well, but don’t they?’ asked he again. ‘No such thing; it would be absurd to suppose it.’ ‘So I thought,’ rejoined he; ‘and when I looked at yer “honour’s” boots’ (it was the first time he had addressed me by this title of deference), ‘and saw the marks on the heels for spurs, I soon knew how much of a sailor you were.’ ‘And if not a sailor, what am I, then?’ asked I; for, in the loneliness of the mountain region where we walked, I could afford to throw off my disguise without risk. ‘Ye’re a French officer of dragoons, and God bless ye; but ye ‘re young to be at the trade. Aren’t I right, now?’ ‘Not very far from it, certainly, for I am a lieutenant of hussars,’ said I, with a little of that pride which we of the loose pelisse always feel on the mention of our corps.