"But now in exiled hands I rust Beside the salt sea's marge, And though I dream of trumpet call, Of rally, and of charge, Of screaming fife, and throbbing drum, As troops defile in train,-- I wake to hear the wailing moan Of the imprisoning Main-- Dead is all Glory! Dead all Fame! Will never sound that song again-- That great, world-wakening refrain?-- Ferrara made and fashioned me, In Cordova, in Spain." There was a spontaneous outburst of applause as I ended, for I had seldom made a better effort, and my closing lines but echoed a sentiment common to us all--that is, of all of us who were soldiers. Such a creature as Prevost could never have a generous impulse stir the weighing-machine which served him in lieu of a soul; and Sarennes was spoiled for nobler aims by the debasing influence of la petite guerre, dear to all Canadians. So M. Prevost saw fit to refrain from all applause; and Sarennes, foolish boy, for boy he was, in spite of his thirty years, was ill-bred enough to follow his example. "M. Prevost, surely you are over-critical when you do not applaud," said M. de St. Julhien, banteringly. "Remember we are not in the rue St. Honore, though I would trust this voice even there." "You have more faith in that, then, than he has in his sword. He puts it in Spanish and Scotch hands. Why not in French?" snapped out the little centipede, virulently. "Possibly there are some French hands in which he would not trust it," retorted M. de Julhien, to our great delight. "Do your words bear that construction?" asked the nettled Commissary, turning on me. "Possibly, too, M. de Maxwell may think it is not to be trusted in some Canadian hands," broke in Sarennes, with a hectoring air. "Now, gentlemen," I returned, "you are coming too fast with your questions. As for you, M. de Sarennes, I once offered you some good advice which you did not see fit to follow, and now, even at the risk of having it similarly disregarded, I will proffer more; which is, not to expose yourself to punishment for the impertinences of others. As for your question, when I have had some more satisfactory experience of Canadians, I shall know better how to answer it." "And has not your experience of me been satisfactory, monsieur?" said he, pluming up again. "You are perfectly qualified to answer that question, yourself," I replied, looking "blank requisitions" at him so pointedly that he simply reddened to the roots of his black hair and held his tongue, to the amazement of all who had hoped for some further amusement.