"Oh, my lord!" cried the fisherman, with loud and expansive
frankness, "that is a lucky question, and you could not put
it to anybody better than to me, for in truth I can make you
a famous reply. Imagine, my lord, that when putting into
Ostend to sell the few mackerel we had caught, I saw the
ex-king walking on the downs waiting for his horses, which
were to take him to the Hague. He is a rather tall, pale
man, with black hair, and somewhat hard-featured. He looks
ill, and I don't think the air of Holland agrees with him."

Monk followed with the greatest attention the rapid,
heightened, and diffuse conversation of the fisherman, in a
language which was not his own, but which, as we have said,
he spoke with great facility. The fisherman on his part,
employed sometimes a French word, sometimes an English word,
and sometimes a word which appeared not to belong to any
language, but was, in truth, pure Gascon. Fortunately his
eyes spoke for him, and that so eloquently, that it was
possible to lose a word from his mouth, but not a single
intention from his eyes. The general appeared more and more
satisfied with his examination. "You must have heard that
this ex-king, as you call him, was going to the Hague for
some purpose?"

"Oh, yes," said the fisherman, "I heard that."

"And what was his purpose?"

"Always the same," said the fisherman. "Must he not always
entertain the fixed idea of returning to England?"