His honor, was attired in a suit of immaculate white duck, with a massive gold chain strung across his vest and a superb diamond pin upon his shirt front.
The countess was a Frenchwoman, of some three-and-thirty years, with a thin, angular face, bead-like black eyes, and hair to match, and a thin compressed mouth, which when she laughed showed two rows of pearly teeth. She also wore an abundance of paint and powder upon her face, and what with her rich attire of silk, lace, and diamonds, was a striking and peculiar-looking personage—a woman who looked crafty, and capable of mischief.
As soon as she and the Honorable Greyville advanced upon the lawn, the villagers arose from the tables, and the women courtesied low, while the men swung their hats and sent up a rousing cheer.
The countess and her escort then moved about here and there, with a pleasant word for all, and a bidding for them to continue their feast.
As they passed near where Fritz stood leaning against the tree, Greyville gave him a sharp, stern glance, and said:
"Ah! who are you, and what do you want here, sir?"
"Nothing in particular," Fritz replied, returning his stare, calmly. "I only see vot you vas haff a pic-nig, und I come in to look on."
"Then begone, sir, at once! I allow no loafers around here. Go, I say!" and then they passed on.
Fritz did not go, however, but retained his position, in defiance.
"Shorge Vashingdon made dis a free coundry, und I von'd go dil I gits ready," he muttered.