Fan did not make over her straw to any of these men, as I fully expected that she would; nor did they seem to expect it. I heard a great deal of talk about Monsieur le Commissaire, and there was a good deal of pointing of fingers and something about “chambre voisine.” As Fanny sheered off I followed. “Can’t I come into the voisin chamber?” I asked, not knowing the meaning of the word, “and see Mounseer the Commissary?” Fan looked at me in a startled way, but Nell interposed hastily— “Let him come, he’s main quick and might help; he’s not a cursed boy.” I must explain that in this dialect cursed means malicious or ill-natured; it has the meaning, in fact, which Shakespeare followed when he spoke of “Kate the curst” in his “Taming of the Shrew.” Frances looked doubtful, but went on, Nellie and I following. As we entered the little adjoining room a young man jumped up, and, running to Nellie, took her hand and kissed it with much fervour. “Hallo!” I cried, “what d’you let that common fellow kiss your hand for?” “He isn’t a common fellow—he’s an engineer!” cried Nell, angrily, “and you’re nothing but a dull young boy not to know a gentleman when you sees one! “Beg pardon, mounseer,” said I, for Frenchy was bowing to me, and I wished to show we Welsh knew manners. But though he might be a gentleman, I still hold to it, he was grimy. “I’ve brought you the money for the things sold in missus’ shop,” continued Nell; then turning to me, “This gentleman, as is an engineer, is main clever, and manages all the accounts.” The engineer seemed to me to have been clever enough to have managed more than accounts; however for once discretion prevailed and I held my tongue. Then Nellie and this mounseer fell to their accounts, and seemed to have a great deal to say to each other in a mixture of French and English, which, not understanding very well, I found stupid, and turned to look for Fanny and her friend, another grimy individual, who proved to be the commissary himself. They also seemed much taken up with each other, and were conversing in the same lingo. I noticed that Fan had made over her bundle of straw to this man, and she seemed very busy talking over some arrangements. I approached, being willing to know what it was all about. “Who ze plague is zis garçon?” asked the commissary. “Oh, a young boy from down town—veal, savez-vous? Nong mauvais—a smart young chap obligant. Can portey kelke chose, vous savez.” “Bon!” said the Frenchman, letting the word fly out like a shot, “we af some drifles to make car out of zis.” I perceived at once that he had acquired his knowledge of English from Frances, as “car” for “carry” is pure Pembrokeshire. “I shall be very glad to be of use,” I remarked. “What sort of things, Frances—gimcracks, I suppose?” “Vat says he, là?” inquired the commissary.