“Prince Fizzybelli!”
“You don’t say so?” screamed the lady with her delight.
“Yes, most faithfully promised.”
“What will the Feasibles say?” cried the lady;—“but—is he a real prince?”
“A real prince! O yes, indeed is he! well known in Tartary.”
“Well, Dr Plausible, I have good news for you. Here is a note from Mr H—, in answer to yours, in which he promises you the loan of the wax figure from Germany, of a female in the first stage of par—partu—I can’t make out the word.”
“Excellent! most excellent!” cried the doctor, rubbing his hands; “now we shall do.”
Newton, who had some curiosity to see a conversazione, which to him was a terra incognita, did not fail to go at the appointed hour. He was ushered up stairs into the drawing-room, at the door of which he was received by Mrs Plausible, in blue and silver. The rooms not being very large, were extremely crowded, and Newton at one moment found himself jammed against some curiosity, and at another treading on the toes or heels of people who accepted his apologies, looking daggers; and with a snarling, “don’t mention it.”
But a thundering knock at the door was followed by the announcement of his Highness Prince Fizzybelli—Prince Fizzybelli at the door—Prince Fizzybelli coming up—Prince Fizzybelli (enters).
Had it been permitted, Dr Plausible would have received his guest with a flourish of trumpets, as great men are upon the stage, without which it is impossible now-a-days to know a great man from a little one. However, the hired attendants did their duty, and the name of Fizzybelli was fizzed about the room in every direction. Dr Plausible trod on the corns of old Lady G—, upset Miss Periwinkle, and nearly knocked down a French savant, in his struggle to obtain the door to receive his honoured guest, who made a bow, looked at the crowd—looked at the chandelier—looked at his watch, and looked very tired in the course of five minutes, when Prince Fizzybelli ordered his carriage, and was off.