“Most decidedly,” said I, as I put on a kind of Godefroy de Bouillon look, and strutted about the room.
“And pray what can induce you to such a step?”
“Oui, que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?'” said the Count.
“By Jove!” cried my father, hastily, “you are intolerable; you wished your boy to be a Guardsman in opposition to my desire for a regiment on service. You would have him an aide-de-camp: now he is both one and the other. In Heaven's name, what think ye of getting him made a lady of the bedchamber? for it's the only appointment I am aware of——”
“You are too absurd, General,” said my mother, pettishly. “Count, pray touch the bell; that fire is so very hot, and I really was quite unprepared for this piece of news.”
“And you, Julia,” said I, leaning over the back of my cousin's chair, “what do you say to all this?”
“I've just been thinking what a pity it is I should have wasted all my skill and my worsted on this foolish rug, while I could have been embroidering a gay banner for our young knight bound for the wars. 'Partant pour la Syrie,'” hummed she, half pensively, while I could see a struggling effort to suppress a laugh. I turned indignantly away, and walked towards the fire, where the Count was expending his consolations on my mother.
“After all, Miladi, it is not so bad as you think in the provinces; I once spent three weeks in Brittany, very pleasantly indeed: oui, pardieu, it's quite true. To be sure, we had Perlet, and Mademoiselle Mars, and got up the Précieuse Ridicules as well as in Paris.”
The application of this very apposite fact to Ireland was clearly satisfactory to my mother, who smiled benignly at the speaker, while my father turned upon him a look of the most indescribable import.
“Jack, my boy!” said he, taking me by the arm, “were I your age, and had no immediate prospect of active service, I should prefer Ireland to any country in the world. I have plenty of old friends on the staff there. The Duke himself was my schoolfellow——”