Meanwhile, the new-comer was by his friend helped to some ragout, which pleased his palate so well, that he declared he should now make a hearty meal, for the first time since he had crossed the water; and, while his good-humour prevailed, he drank to every individual around the table. Ferdinand seized this opportunity of insinuating himself into his favour, by saying in English, he was glad to find there was anything in France that was agreeable to Sir Stentor. To this compliment the knight replied with an air of surprise: “Waunds! I find here’s another countryman of mine in this here company. Sir, I am proud to see you with all my heart.” So speaking, he thrust out his right hand across the table, and shook our hero by the fist, with such violence of civility, as proved very grievous to a French marquis, who, in helping himself to soup, was jostled in such a manner, as to overturn the dividing-spoon in his own bosom. The Englishman, seeing the mischief he had produced, cried, “No offence, I hope,” in a tone of vociferation, which the marquis in all probability misconstrued; for he began to model his features into a very sublime and peremptory look, when Fathom interpreted the apology, and at the same time informed Sir Stentor, that although he himself had not the honour of being an Englishman, he had always entertained a most particular veneration for the country, and learned the language in consequence of that esteem. “Blood!” answered the knight, “I think myself the more obliged to you for your kind opinion, than if you was my countryman in good earnest. For there be abundance of we English—no offence, Sir Giles—that seem to be ashamed of their own nation, and leave their homes to come and spend their fortunes abroad, among a parcel of—you understand me, sir—a word to the wise, as the saying is.”—Here he was interrupted by an article of the second course, that seemed to give him great disturbance. This was a roasted leveret, very strong of the fumet, which happened to be placed directly under his nose. His sense of smelling was no sooner encountered by the effluvia of this delicious fare, than he started up from table, exclaiming, “Odd’s my liver! here’s a piece of carrion, that I would not offer to e’er a hound in my kennel; ’tis enough to make any Christian vomit both gut and gall;” and indeed by the wry faces he made while he ran to the door, his stomach seemed ready to justify this last assertion.