GRATITUDE. 339 



the MEET would be at or near the chateau. He 

 had overtaken two Frenchmen on the road, with 

 their dogs and guns: so, Englishman-like, he con- 

 cluded that as they appeared like sportsmen, they 

 would certainly know where the MEET was; and 

 having heard the baron and I use the word chasse, he 

 concluded it meant that ; so on encountering the 

 Frenchmen he mustered French enough to use the 

 word chasse, intimating by pointing forwards that he 

 wanted to get there. "Om, mon ami yes," cried 

 one of the shooters, pointing to . a cover at some dis- 

 tance. Tom thought he was all right. The French- 

 man, flattered by the idea that he was anxious to see 

 them shoot, opened the barrieres for him, which 

 for once in his life made Tom civil to and think well 

 of a Frenchman. Arrived at the cover on a hill, 

 Tom looked round, but saw neither hound nor, 

 as he expected, red coats, nor any coats coming up. 

 He now saw something was wrong, and, I have 

 no doubt, bestowing some of those choice blessings 

 on the heads of the shooters that he always so 

 liberally bestowed on every Frenchman he met with, 

 whether deservedly or not, he cantered back to the 

 chateau, ready charged, as I perceived, for a fresh 

 volley. To put him on better terms with himself 

 and the world, I took him into the house, trusting 

 to the effects of a glass or two of Cognac, the homo 

 in blue body and red cap holding my nag the while ; 

 in return for which, Mr. Tom, on mounting his 

 horse, shook his fist in the man's face, muttering 

 something like "sarving him out;" knowing that 

 the idea was very likely to be followed by prac- 

 tical explanation, I hurried him off. The man of 

 blue and red taking, as all Frenchmen do, every - 



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