"Pardon, baron, I forgot the 'r,' The Englishman's affectation of a virtue he despises makes of him a prig—not a pig. Non, non! Mon Dieu! Not a pig—a prig! Is it not so?"
"True, true, count," I returned, unable to restrain a laugh. "It is the affectation of virtue that makes frank vice attractive by comparison."
"Ah, true, true, my dear baron. May I proceed with my errand?"
"Proceed, count."
"Monsieur le Comte Hamilton begs me to say that he was called away from London early to-day on the king's business, but that he will return in four weeks. When he returns he will do himself the honor to send me again, asking you to name a friend, unless you prefer to apologize, which no gentleman would do in a case of this sort. You said, I am told, that Monsieur le Comte lied. If you admit that he did not lie, of course you admit that you did. So, im-pos-si-ble! There must be to fight!"
"Do you know, count, the cause of my having given Count Hamilton the lie?" I asked.
"I did not inquire," he answered smilingly. "To me it was to carry the message."
"George Hamilton is your friend, is he not?" I asked.
"Yes, but far more, he is the friend of my king, and will make entreaty with my monarch for my return to France," answered De Grammont.
"It was because of Count Hamilton's insulting reference to his brother that I used the ugly word," I returned.