“This is a poor reception,” said Don Manoël, as he got out of the carriage, leaning on the arms of his secretary and valet.
“Your excellency must pardon me,” said the chancellor, “but the courier announcing your arrival only reached the hotel at two o’clock to-day. I was absent on some business, and when I returned, found your excellency’s letter; I have only had time to have the rooms opened and lighted.”
“Very good.”
“It gives me great pleasure to see the illustrious person of our ambassador.”
“We desire to keep as quiet as possible,” said Don Manoël, “until we receive further orders, from Lisbon. But pray show me to my room, for I am dying with fatigue; my secretary will give you all necessary directions.”
The chancellor bowed respectfully to Beausire, who returned it, and then said, “We will speak French, sir; I think it will be better for both of us.”
“Yes,” murmured the chancellor, “I shall be more at my ease; for I confess that my pronunciation——”
“So I hear,” interrupted Beausire.
“I will take the liberty to say to you, sir, as you seem so amiable, that I trust M. de Souza will not be annoyed at my speaking such bad Portuguese.”
“Oh, not at all, as you speak French.”