“The celebrated Essper George, just—” again commenced the conjuror; but Vivian prevented the repetition.
“He is an odd knave. Lady Madeleine, that I have met with before, at other places, I believe I may add an honest one. What say you, Essper?”
“More honest than moonlight, gracious lady, for that deceives every one; and less honest than self-praise, for that deceives no one.”
“My friend, you have a ready wit.”
“My wit is like a bustling servant, gracious lady; always ready when not wanted, and never present at a pinch.”
“Come, I must have a pair of your chamois bracelets. How sell you them?”
“I sell nothing; all here is gratis to beauty, virtue, and nobility: and these are my only customers.”
“Thanks will not supply a stock-in-trade though, Essper,” said Vivian.
“Very true! but my customers are apt to leave some slight testimonies behind them of the obligations which they are under to me; and these, at the same time, are the prop of my estate and the proof of their discretion. But who comes here?” said Essper, drawing out his horn. The sight of this instrument reminded Lady Madeleine how greatly the effect of music is heightened by distance, and she made a speedy retreat, yielding her place to a family procession of a striking character.
Three daughters abreast, flanked by two elder sons, formed the first file. The father, a portly, prosperous-looking man, followed, with his lady on his arm. Then came two nursery maids, with three children, between the tender ages of five and six. The second division of the grand army, consisting of three younger sons, immediately followed. This was commanded by a tutor. A governess and two young daughters then advanced; and then came the extreme rear, the sutlers of the camp, in the persons of two footmen in rich liveries, who each bore a basket on his arm, filled with various fancy articles, which had been all purchased during the promenade of this nation through only part of the bazaar.