“And who are you?” said Jack, in a voice shaken and faltering.
“Don't you know me, my poor dear fellow? Don't you remember George L'Estrange?”
What between emotion and debility, this speech unmanned him so that he staggered back a couple of paces, and sank down heavily, not fainting, but too weak to stand, too much overcome to utter.
CHAPTER LVI. AT LADY AUGUSTA'S
“The Count Pracontal, my Lady,” said a very grave-looking groom of the chambers, as Lady Augusta sat watching a small golden squirrel swinging by his tail from the branch of a camellia tree.
“Say I am engaged, Hislop—particularly engaged. I do not receive—or, wait; tell him I am much occupied, but if he is quite sure his visit shall not exceed five minutes, he may come in.”
Count Pracontal seemed as though the permission had reached his own ears, for he entered almost immediately, and, bowing deeply and deferentially, appeared to wait leave to advance further into the room.
“Let me have my chocolate, Hislop;” and, as the man withdrew, she pointed to a chair, and said, “There. When did you come back?”
Pracontal, however, had dropped on his knee before her, and pressed her hand to his lips with a fervid devotion, saying, “How I have longed and waited for this moment!”