"You were at Waterloo," said the French officer.

"I was," said Captain Richard Doubledick. "And at Badajos."

Left alone with the sound of his own stern voice in his ears, he sat down
to consider, What shall I do, and how shall I tell him? At that time,
unhappily, many deplorable duels had been fought between English and
French officers, arising out of the recent war; and these duels, and how
to avoid this officer's hospitality, were the uppermost thought in
Captain Richard Doubledick's mind.

He was thinking, and letting the time run out in which he should have
dressed for dinner, when Mrs. Taunton spoke to him outside the door,
asking if he could give her the letter he had brought from Mary. "His
mother, above all," the Captain thought. "How shall I tell _her_?"

"You will form a friendship with your host, I hope," said Mrs. Taunton,
whom he hurriedly admitted, "that will last for life. He is so
true-hearted and so generous, Richard, that you can hardly fail to esteem
one another. If He had been spared," she kissed (not without tears) the
locket in which she wore his hair, "he would have appreciated him with
his own magnanimity, and would have been truly happy that the evil days
were past which made such a man his enemy."

She left the room; and the Captain walked, first to one window, whence he
could see the dancing in the garden, then to another window, whence he
could see the smiling prospect and the peaceful vineyards.

"Spirit of my departed friend," said he, "is it through thee these better