No, no, after all,"
added he, hesitating, "perhaps if I had been civiller--"
"I should guess you to be a little too prompt of tongue," said
Edmund, smiling.
"It is what my mother is always blaming me for," said Walter; "but
really, now, Edmund, doesn't it savour of the crop-ear to be picking
one's words to every rogue in one's way?"
"Nay, Walter, you should not ask me that question, just coming from
France. There we hold that the best token, in our poverty, that we
are cavaliers and gentlemen, is to be courteous to all, high and low.
You should see our young King's frank bright courtesy; and as to the
little King Louis, he is the very pink of civility to every old
poissarde in the streets."
Walter coloured a little, and looked confused; then repeated, as if
consoling himself, "He is a sullen, spiteful, good-for-nothing rogue,
whom hanging is too good for."
"Don't let us spend our whole night in abusing him," said Edmund; "I
want to make the most of you, Walter, for this our last sight of each
other."
"O, Edmund! you don't mean--they shall not--you shall escape. Oh! is
there no way out of this room?" cried Walter, running round it like
one distracted, and bouncing against the wainscot, as if he would
shake it down.
"Hush! this is of no use, Walter," said his brother.
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