Everything being at last in order, Mrs. Coleman, looking rather warm, but still very neat and very charming, sat at the head of the table, with her back to the fireplace; the Major was on her right, Jean on her left, Pauline next to him, and opposite to her Zachariah. Zachariah and his wife believed in asking a blessing on their food; but, curiously enough, in 1814, even amongst the strictest sort, it had come to be the custom not to ask it at breakfast or tea, but only at dinner; although breakfast and tea in those days certainly needed a blessing as much as dinner, for they were substantial meals. An exception was made in favour of public tea-meetings. At a public tea-meeting a blessing was always asked and a hymn was always sung. For some time nothing remarkable was said. The weather was very hot, and Mrs. Coleman complained. It had been necessary to keep up a fire for the sake of the kettle. The Major promptly responded to her confession of faintness by opening the window wider, by getting a shawl to put over the back of her chair; and these little attentions she rewarded by smiles and particular watchfulness over his plate and cup. At last he and Jean fell to talking about the jubilee which was to take place on the first of the next month to celebrate the centenary of the “accession of the illustrious family of Brunswick to the throne”—so ran the public notice. There was to be a grand display in the parks, a sham naval action on the Serpentine, and a balloon ascent. “Are you going, Caillaud?” said the Major. “It will be a holiday.” “We,” cried Pauline—“we! I should think not. _We_ go to rejoice over your House of Brunswick; and it is to be the anniversary of your battle of the Nile too! _We_ go! No, no.” “What’s your objection to the House of Brunswick? And as for the battle of the Nile, you are no friend to Napoleon.” So replied the Major, who always took a pleasure in exciting Pauline. “The House of Brunswick! Why should we thank God for them; thank God for the stupidest race that ever sat upon a throne; thank God for stupidity—and in a king, Major? God, the Maker of the sun and stars—to call upon the nation to bless Him for your Prince Regent. As for the Nile, I am, as you say, no friend to Napoleon, but I am French. It is horrible to me to think—I saw him the other day—that your Brunswick Prince is in London and Napoleon is in Elba.” “God, after all,” said the Major, laughing, “is not so hostile to stupidity, then; as you suppose.” “Ah! don’t plague me, Major; that’s what you are always trying to do. I’m not going to thank the Supreme for the Brunswicks. I don’t believe He wanted them here.”