Now I was gaunt and rusty as a
bear in spring. I looked at the secret forest, the uncharted water,
and at my smoke-grimed men squatting like monkeys over a savage game,
and I smote my knee with content. Truly it was a satisfying thing to
live while the world afforded such contrasts! And if I played my
present cards with skill, there might be a still greater contrast in
store for me when next I stood in that ante-chamber and heard my name
carried within. But that thought made me restless, and I went in
search of the Englishman.
The Englishman had sat apart from us since we landed, and now I found
him with his back against a rock ledge looking at the water. I was in
a mood when I had to wag my tongue to some one and ease myself of some
spreading fancies. So I dropped down beside him.
"Monsieur," I began by way of introduction to my theme, "are you indeed
a yeoman?"
He looked up with an excess of solemnity. "No, monsieur."
This was not the answer I had expected,--though, in truth, I had given
the matter little thought. "Then you are a gentleman?" I asked,
deflected from my intended speech.
He shook his head. "No, monsieur, no gentleman."
I did not like his hidden play with words, although I understood it.
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