She seemed rebuked at this, and said nothing.
“As for myself,” said I, “I am nothing without tobacco,—positively nothing. I remember one night,—it was the fourth sitting of the Congress at Paris, that Sardinian fellow, you know his name, came to me and said,—
“'There's that confounded question of the Danubian Provinces coming on to-morrow, and Gortschakoff is the only one who knows anything about it. Where are we to get at anything like information?'
“'When do you want it, Count?' said I.
“'To-morrow, by eleven at latest There must be, at least, a couple of hours to study it before the Congress meets.'
“'Tell them to bring in ten candles, fifty cigars, and two quires of foolscap,' said I, 'and let no one pass this door till I ring.' At ten minutes to eleven next morning he had in his hands that memoir which Lord C. said embodied the prophetic wisdom of Edmund Burke with the practical statesmanship of the great Commoner. Perhaps you have read it?”
“No, sir.”
“Your tastes do not probably incline to affairs of state. If so, only suggest what you 'd like to talk on. I am indifferently skilled in most subjects. Are you for the poets? I am ready, from Dante to the Biglow Papers. Shall it be arts? I know the whole thing from Memmling and his long-nosed saints, to Leech and the Punctuate. Make it antiquities, agriculture, trade, dress, the drama, conchology, or cock-fighting,— I'm your man; so go in; and don't be afraid that you 'll disconcert me.”
“I assure you, sir, that my fears would attach far more naturally to my own insufficiency.”
“Well,” said I, after a pause, “there's something in that Macaulay used to be afraid of me. Whenever Mrs. Montagu Stanhope asked him to one of her Wednesday dinners, he always declined if I was to be there. You don't seem surprised at that?”