He
took his share in these diversions, not so much like a
man in high spirits, but like one of an approved good-
nature, habitually self-forgetful, accustomed to please
and to follow others. I have remarked in old soldiers
much the same smiling sadness and sociable self-
effacement.
I feared to look at him, lest my glances should betray
my deep excitement, and chance served me so well that
the soup was scarce removed before we were naturally
introduced. My first sip of Chateau Siron, a vintage
from which I had been long estranged, startled me into
speech.
"O, this'll never do!" I cried, in English.
"Dreadful stuff, isn't it?" said Madden, in the same
language. "Do let me ask you to share my bottle. They
call it Chambertin, which it isn't; but it's fairly
palatable, and there's nothing in this house that a man
can drink at all."
I accepted; anything would do that paved the way to
better knowledge.
"Your name is Madden, I think," said I. "My old friend
Stennis told me about you when I came."
"Yes, I am sorry he went; I feel such a Grandfather
William alone among all these lads," he replied.
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