"They courtesied so!" was Celia's ungrammatical exclamation.
"Ah! you think it unsisterly? The one, my dear, is a Duchess, the other only the widow of a Baronet. You must not consider the sistership."
Celia laughed within herself to think how the Squire and Madam Passmore would look, if they saw her and Isabella courtesying away at each other in that style.
"Now don't lose all these folks," resumed Philip, as more people entered. "That little man dressed in black, with a black wig, to whom my mother is courtesying now,—do you see him?"
"I was just looking at him," replied Celia. "I cannot say that I like him, though I have no idea who he may be."
"Why?—because he is so short?"
"Oh no! I hope I should never dislike a man for any natural infirmity. I thought he looked very cross."
"He has the happy distinction of being the crossest man in France," said Philip.
"Well, he looks like it," said Celia.
"But one of the most distinguished men in France, my dear. That is the great Duke de Lauzun,[[1]] who has spent ten years in prison for treason, who aspired to the hand of Mademoiselle, the King's own cousin, and whom King James trusted to bring the Queen and the Prince of Wales over here from England."