In the Reign of Terror | Page 9

see you.
Harry did not understand the latter portion of the remark, but he caught
the sound of his name.
"That's all right," he said nodding. "How do you do, M. du Tillet?"
The French gentleman bowed; Harry bowed; and then they looked at
each other. There was nothing more to say. A smile stole over Harry's
face, and broke into a frank laugh. The Frenchman smiled, put his hand
on Harry's shoulder, and said:
"Brave garcon!" and Harry felt they were friends.
M. du Tillet's face bore an expression of easy good temper. He wore a
wig with long curls; he had a soldier's bearing, and a scar on his left
cheek; his complexion was dark and red, his eyebrows black and bushy.
After a pause he said:
"Are you hungry?" and then put imaginary food to his mouth.
"You mean will I eat anything?" Harry translated. "Yes, that I will if
there's anything fit to eat. I begin to feel as hungry as a hunter, and no
wonder, for I am as hollow as a drum!"
His nod was a sufficient answer. M. du Tillet took his hat, opened the
door, and bowed for Harry to precede him.
Harry hesitated, but believing it would be the polite way to do as he
was told, returned the bow and went out. The Frenchman put his hand
on his shoulder, and they went down stairs together and took their seats
in the salon, where his companion gave an order, and in two or three
minutes a bowl of broth was placed before each of them.
It fully answered Harry's ideas as to the thinness of French soup, for it
looked like dirty water with a few pieces of bread and some scraps of
vegetables floating in it. He was astonished at the piece of bread, nearly
a yard long, placed on the table. M. du Tillet cut a piece off and handed
it to him. He broke a portion of it into his broth, and found, when he
tasted it, that it was much nicer than it looked.
"It's not so bad after all," he thought to himself. "Anyhow bread seems
plentiful, so there's no fear of my starving." He followed his
companion's example and made his way steadily through a number of
dishes all new and strange to him; neither his sight nor his taste gave

him the slightest indication as to what meat he was eating.
"I suppose it's all right," he concluded; "but what people can want to
make such messes of their food for I can't make out. A slice of good
roast beef is worth the lot of it; but really it isn't nasty; some of the
dishes are not bad at all if one only knew what they were made of." M.
du Tillet offered him some wine, which he tasted but shook his head,
for it seemed rough and sour; but he poured himself out some water.
Presently a happy idea seized him; he touched the bread and said
interrogatively, "Bread?" M. du Tillet at once replied "Pain," which
Harry repeated after him.
The ice thus broken, conversation began, and Harry soon learned the
French for knife, fork, spoon, plate, and various other articles, and felt
that he was fairly on the way towards talking French. After the meal
was over M. du Tillet rose and put on his hat, and signed to Harry to
accompany him. They strolled through the town, went down to the
quays and looked at the fishing-boats; Harry was feeling more at home
now, and asked the French name for everything he saw, repeating the
word over and over again to himself until he felt sure that he should
remember it, and then asking the name of some fresh object.
The next morning they started in the post-waggon for Paris, and arrived
there after thirty-six hours' travel. Harry was struck with the roads,
which were far better tended and kept than those in England. The
extreme flatness of the country surprised him, and, except in the
quaintness of the villages and the variety of the church towers, he saw
little to admire during the journey.
"If it is all like this," he thought to himself, "I don't see that they have
any reason for calling it La belle France."
Of Paris he saw little. A blue-bloused porter carried his trunk what
seemed to Harry a long distance from the place where the conveyance
stopped. The streets here were quiet and almost deserted after the busy
thoroughfares of the central city. The houses stood, for the most part,
back from the street, with high walls and heavy gates.
"Here we are at last," his guide said, as he halted before a large and
massive gateway, surmounted by a coat of