The man came on among the tombstones, showing a full presence and
prosperous air, suggesting good vintages, such as were never set out in
the Smithfield alehouse. Instead of being smooth shaven, he wore a very
long mustache which dropped its ends below his chin.

A court painter, attached to his patrons, ought to have fallen into
straits during the Revolution. Philippe exclaimed with astonishment--

"Why, it's Bellenger! Look at him!"

Bellenger took off his cap and made a deep reverence.

"My uncle is weeping over the dead English, Bellenger," said Philippe.
"It always moves him to tears to see how few of them die."

"We can make no such complaint against Frenchmen in these days,
monsieur," the court painter answered. "I see you have my young charge
here, enjoying the gravestones with you;--a pleasing change after the
unmarked trenches of France. With your permission I will take him away."

"Have I the honor, Monsieur Bellenger, of saluting the man who brought
the king out of prison?" the old man inquired.

Again Bellenger made the marquis a deep reverence, which modestly
disclaimed any exploit.

"When was this done?--Who were your helpers? Where are you taking him?"

Bellenger lifted his eyebrows at the fanatical royalist.