I need not detain the reader very long with any description of my visit to the back-kitchen; of how we mulled our ale there, and mulled it very well; nor of how we sat talking, Fenn like an old, faithful, affectionate dependant, and I--well! I myself fallen into a mere admiration of so much impudence, that transcended words, and had very soon conquered animosity. I took a fancy to the man, he was so vast a humbug. I began to see a kind of beauty in him, his _aplomb_ was so majestic. I never knew a rogue to cut so fat; his villainy was ample, like his belly, and I could scarce find it in my heart to hold him responsible for either. He was good enough to drop into the autobiographical; telling me how the farm, in spite of the war and the high prices, had proved a disappointment; how there was "a sight of cold, wet land as you come along the 'igh-road"; how the winds and rains and the seasons had been misdirected, it seemed "o' purpose"; how Mrs. Fenn had died--"I lost her coming two year agone; a remarkable fine woman, my old girl, sir; if you'll excuse me," he added, with a burst of humility. In short, he gave me an opportunity of studying John Bull, as I may say, stripped naked--his greed, his usuriousness, his hypocrisy, his perfidy of the back-stairs, all swelled to the superlative--such as was well worth the little disarray and fluster of our passage in the hall. CHAPTER XIII I MEET TWO OF MY COUNTRYMEN As soon as I judged it safe, and that was not before Burchell Fenn had talked himself back into his breath and a complete good-humour, I proposed he should introduce me to the French officers, henceforth to become my fellow-passengers. There were two of them, it appeared, and my heart beat as I approached the door. The specimen of Perfidious Albion whom I had just been studying gave me the stronger zest for my fellow-countrymen. I could have embraced them; I could have wept on their necks. And all the time I was going to a disappointment.