“Welcome! Welcome to old England!” said Lord Antony, effusively, as he came eagerly forward with both hands outstretched towards the newcomers.
“Ah, you are Lord Antony Dewhurst, I think,” said one of the ladies, speaking with a strong foreign accent.
“At your service, Madame,” he replied, as he ceremoniously kissed the hands of both the ladies, then turned to the men and shook them both warmly by the hand.
Sally was already helping the ladies to take off their travelling cloaks, and both turned, with a shiver, towards the brightly-blazing hearth.
There was a general movement among the company in the coffee-room. Sally had bustled off to her kitchen, whilst Jellyband, still profuse with his respectful salutations, arranged one or two chairs around the fire. Mr. Hempseed, touching his forelock, was quietly vacating the seat in the hearth. Everyone was staring curiously, yet deferentially, at the foreigners.
“Ah, Messieurs! what can I say?” said the elder of the two ladies, as she stretched a pair of fine, aristocratic hands to the warmth of the blaze, and looked with unspeakable gratitude first at Lord Antony, then at one of the young men who had accompanied her party, and who was busy divesting himself of his heavy, caped coat.
“Only that you are glad to be in England, Comtesse,” replied Lord Antony, “and that you have not suffered too much from your trying voyage.”
“Indeed, indeed, we are glad to be in England,” she said, while her eyes filled with tears, “and we have already forgotten all that we have suffered.”
Her voice was musical and low, and there was a great deal of calm dignity and of many sufferings nobly endured marked in the handsome, aristocratic face, with its wealth of snow-white hair dressed high above the forehead, after the fashion of the times.
“I hope my friend, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, proved an entertaining travelling companion, Madame?”