sullen, and sad, and upon this beautiful face not any of the graces
of youth appeared.

The young cavalier came straight towards him, and when at a step or
two from the fountain, he called out in German, with an imperious
voice: "My horse is thirsty,--make room for me, my good man!"

Gilbert did not stir.

"You take a very lofty tone, my little friend," replied he in the
same language, which he understood very well, but pronounced like
the devil,--I mean like a Frenchman.

"My tall friend, how much do you charge for your lessons in
etiquette?" answered the young man in the same language, imitating
Gilbert's pronunciation. Then he added in French, with
irreproachable purity of accent: "Come, I can't wait, move
quicker," and he began cutting the air with his riding-whip.

"M. Stephane," said Gilbert, who had not forgotten the adventure of
the little Wilhelm, "your whip will get you into trouble some of
these days."

"Who gave you the right to know my name?" cried the young man,
raising his head haughtily.

"The name is already notorious through the country," retorted
Gilbert, "and you have written it in very legible characters upon
the cheek of a little pig-driver."