“What wonder, Comrade, if I am so?” retorted Paul, gruffly. “This shore service is bad enough, not to make it worse by listening to such yarns as these we have been hearing, about platoons and squadrons; of charges here and counter-marches there. _Ventre d'enfer!_ that may amuse those who never saw a broadside or a boarding; but as for me, look ye, Comrade!”--here he addressed himself to me, laying his great hand upon my shoulder as he spoke,--“until ye can bring your mounted lines to charge up to the mouth of a battery vomiting grape and roundshot, ye must not tell your stories before old sailors, ay, though they be only Marines' of the Guard, some of them.” “Don't be angry with old Paul, Comrade,” said the man who spoke before; “he does not mean to offend you.” “Who told you that?” said Paul, sternly. “Why can't you sheer off, and leave me to' lay alongside of my enemy my own way?” “You must not call me by such a name,” said I; “we all serve the Emperor, and have no enemies save his. Come, Paul, let us have a cup of wine together.” “Agreed! an ye promise to tell no more tales of dragoons and hussars, and such like cattle, I'll drink with you. Bah! it's not Christianlike to fight a-horse-back,--it's only fit for Turks and Arabs; but for men that are made to stand fast on their own stout timbers, they have no need of four-footed beasts to carry them against an enemy. Here's my hand, Comrade; is it a bargain?” “Willingly,” said I, laughing. “If you consent, instead, to tell us some of your own adventures, I promise faithfully not to trouble you with one of mine.” “That's like a man,” said Paul, evidently flattered by the successful assertion of his own superiority. “And now, if the host will let us have some more wine, I'm ready.” “Ay, ay,” cried several together; “replenish the basket once more.” “This time, gentlemen, you must permit me to treat you. It is not every day such guests assemble under my poor roof,” said the landlord, bowing courteously, “nor am I likely soon to pass so pleasant an evening.” “That's as you please it,” said Paul, carelessly. “If you are too good a fellow to care for money, there's three naps for the poor of the village; mayhap there may be an old sailor amongst them.” A murmur of satisfaction at their comrade's conduct ran round the circle, as the host disappeared for the fresh supply of wine. In an instant he was back again, carrying a second basket under his arm, which he placed carefully on the table, saying, “Pomard of '87, gentlemen; I wish it were Chambertin for your sakes.” “_Tête bleue!_that's what I call wine,” said one, smacking his lips, as he tasted the generous liquor. “Yes,” said Paul, “that's better than drinking the pink water they serve us out on service. _Morbleu!_ how we 'd fight, if they'd tap an aume of that when they beat to quarters.”