"Really, my dear De Graün," resumed Rodolph, "I know not how to acknowledge the weight of your compliment, or how to repay such delicate flattery in its own way."
"My lord, let me entreat of you not to take the trouble," exclaimed the baron, who had for the instant forgotten that Rodolph, who detested every species of flattery, always revenged himself by the most unsparing raillery on those who, directly or indirectly, addressed it to him.
"Nay, baron, I cannot allow myself to remain in your debt. You have praised my understanding,—I will, in return, admire your countenance; for by my honour, as I sit beside you, you look like a youth of twenty. Antinous himself could not boast of finer features, or a more captivating expression."
"My lord! my lord! I cry your mercy!"
"Behold him, Murphy, and say whether Apollo could display more graceful limbs, more light, and youthful proportions!"
"I beseech you, my lord, to pardon me, from the recollection of how long it is since I have permitted myself to utter the slightest compliment to your royal highness."
"Observe, Murphy, this band of gold which restrains, without concealing, the locks of rich black hair flowing over this graceful neck, and—"
"My lord! my lord! for pity's sake spare me! I repent, most sincerely, of my involuntary fault," said the unfortunate baron, with an expression of comic despair on his countenance truly ludicrous.
It must not be forgotten that the original of this glowing picture was at least fifty years of age; his hair gray, frizzled and powdered; a stiff white cravat round his throat; a pale, withered countenance; and golden spectacles upon the horny bridge of his sharp, projecting nose.
"Pardon, my lord! pardon, for the baron," exclaimed the squire, laughing. "I beseech you not to overwhelm him beneath the weight of your mythological allusions. I will be answerable to your royal highness that my unlucky friend here will never again venture to utter a flattery, since so truth is translated in the new vocabulary of Gerolstein."