up proudly to my horse, put his foot in the stirrup, and was going to spring upon Storm's back.
"Stop!" I cried; "the saddle does not go with the animal." I then ordered him to take the saddle off, and to put it on the back of the other horse. Cecilio executed this order, which would probably be the last he would ever receive from his old master, with sufficient readiness and good will. This done, he mounted that horse which was no longer mine. I cursed my folly, but it was too late. A feeling of pride, however, kept me from showing the remorse I felt; and, to hide my chagrin, I asked Cecilio how he had managed to pick up so much French without my knowledge.
"I have not been behind the chair of your lord ship," he replied, "especially when you dined with your countrymen, without acquiring some of the language; and as for making you acquainted with that fact, I was too wide awake. Your lordship, from that time, would have kept your secrets to yourself."
Cecilio was evidently like one of that class of valets who figure so largely in the picaresque romances of Spain. More than once he had reminded me of Ambrosio of Lamela in Gil Blas. His physiognomy had not deceived me. However, in spite of the impudence which he here manifested for the first time, he seemed, when the parting moment came, to suffer considerably. It was natural, in fact, to show some emotion when he was leaving a master who had used him kindly. Moved by this token of feeling on his part, I showed that I was not without some affection for him.
"Cecilio, my friend," I said, "the horse you have won from me would have been yours before many days had passed. Are you grieved because you have been the means of taking him from me?"
