mine, that you learn to pick up those bits of knowledge which
distinguish the man of the world. I have, for example, hardly ever met a
Frenchman who could repeat an English title correctly. If I had not
travelled I should not be able to say with confidence that this young
man's real name was Milor the Hon. Sir Russell, Bart., this last being
an honourable distinction, so that it was as the Bart that I usually
addressed him, just as in Spanish one might say 'the Don.'

As we rode beneath the moonlight in the lovely Spanish night, we spoke
our minds to each other, as if we were brothers. We were both of an age,
you see, both of the light cavalry also (the Sixteenth Light Dragoons
was his regiment), and both with the same hopes and ambitions. Never
have I learned to know a man so quickly as I did the Bart. He gave me
the name of a girl whom he had loved at a garden called Vauxhall, and,
for my own part, I spoke to him of little Coralie, of the Opera. He took
a lock of hair from his bosom, and I a garter. Then we nearly quarrelled
over hussar and dragoon, for he was absurdly proud of his regiment, and
you should have seen him curl his lip and clap his hand to his hilt when
I said that I hoped it might never be its misfortune to come in the way
of the Third. Finally, he began to speak about what the English call
sport, and he told such stories of the money which he had lost over
which of two cocks could kill the other, or which of two men could
strike the other the most in a fight for a prize, that I was filled with
astonishment. He was ready to bet upon anything in the most wonderful
manner, and when I chanced to see a shooting star he was anxious to bet
that he would see more than me, twenty-five francs a star, and it was
only when I explained that my purse was in the hands of the brigands
that he would give over the idea.

Well, we chatted away in this very amiable fashion until the day began