‘Will that do?’ said I, as I pushed over the book towards him, where certainly the least imposing specimen of calligraphy the volume contained now stood confessed.
‘What a droll name!’ said the priest, as he peered at it through his spectacles. ‘How do you pronounce it?’
While I endeavoured to indoctrinate the father into the mystery of my Irish appellation, the mayor and the mayoress had both appended their signatures on either page.
‘Well, I suppose now we may depart at last,’ said Laura; ‘it’s getting very late.’
‘Yes,’ said I, aloud; ‘we must take the road now; there is nothing more, I fancy, Père José?’
‘Yes, but there is though,’ said he, laughing.
At the same moment the galloping of horses and the rumble of wheels were heard without, and a carriage drew up in the street. Down went the steps with a crash; several people rushed along the little gallery, till the very house shook with their tread. The door of the salon was now banged wide, and in rushed Colonel Muddleton, followed by the count, the abbé, and an elderly lady.
‘Where is he?’—‘Where is she?’—‘Where is he?’—‘Where is she?’—‘Where are they?’ screamed they, in confusion, one after the other.
‘Laura! Laura!’ cried the old colonel, clasping his daughter in his arms; ‘I didn’t expect this from you!’
‘Monsieur O’Leary, vous êtes un——’