f Ireland, too,' said he, with a roguish leer. 'But
come along, we 've a good step before us;' and with these words he
led the way down the stairs, holding the balustrade as he went, and
exhibiting every sign of age and weakness. Once in the street, however,
he stepped out more freely, and, before we got clear of the town, walked
at a fair pace, and, to all seeming, with perfect ease.

CHAPTER XXVI. A REMNANT OF 'FONTENOY'

There was no resisting the inquisitive curiosity of my companion. The
short dry cough, the little husky 'ay,' that sounded like anything
rather than assent, which followed on my replies to his questions, and,
more than all, the keen, oblique glances of his shrewd grey eyes, told
me that I had utterly failed in all my attempts at mystification, and
that he read me through and through.

'And so,' said he, at last, after a somewhat lengthy narrative of my
shipwreck, 'and so the Flemish sailors wear spurs?'

'Spurs! of course not; why should they?' asked I, in some astonishment.

'Well, but don't they?' asked he again.

'No such thing; it would be absurd to suppose it.'

'So I thought,' rejoined he; 'and when I looked at yer "honour's" boots'
(it was the first time he had addressed me by this title of deference),
'and saw the marks on the heels for spurs, I soon knew how much of a
sailor you were.'

'And if not a sailor, what am I, then?' asked I; for, in the loneliness
of the mountain region where we walked, I could afford to throw off my
disguise without risk.

'Ye're a French officer of dragoons, and God bless ye; but ye 're young
to be at the trade. Aren't I right, now?'

'Not very far from it, certainly, for I am a lieutenant of hussars,'
said I, with a little of that pride which we of the loose pelisse always
feel on the mention of our corps.

'I knew it well all along,' said he coolly; 'the way you stood in the
room, your step as you walked, and, above all, how you believed me when
I spoke of the spring-tides, and the moon only in her second quarter,
I saw you never was a sailor, anyhow. And so I set a-thinking what you
were. You were too silent for a pedlar, and your hands were too white to
be in the smuggling trade; but when I saw your boots, I had the secret
at once, and knew ye were one of the French army that landed the other
day at Killala.'

'It was stupid enough of me not to have remembered the boots!' said I,
laughing.

'Arrah, what use would it be,' replied he; 'sur