“You will!” said the stranger, who had hitherto spoken French. “Allow me to observe—in the most delicate manner in the world—just to hint, that you are a damned trencher-scraping, napkin-carrying, shilling-seeking, up-and-down-stairs son of a bitch—and take this for your impudence!”
The noise of the cane was again heard; and I hastened downstairs, where I found Count Shucksen thrashing two or three of the waiters without mercy. At my appearance, the waiters, who were showing fight, retreated to a short distance, out of reach of the cane.
“My dear count,” exclaimed I, “is it you?” and I shook him by the hand.
“My dear Lord Privilege, will you excuse me? but these fellows are saucy.”
“Then I’ll have them discharged,” replied I. “If a friend of mine, and an officer of your rank and distinction, cannot come to see me without insult, I will seek another hotel.”
This threat of mine, and the reception I gave the count, put all to rights. The waiters sneaked off, and the master of the hotel apologised. It appeared that they had desired him to wait in the coffee-room until they could announce him, which had hurt the count’s dignity.
“We are sitting down to dinner, count; will you join us?”
“As soon as I have improved my toilet, my dear lord,” replied he “you must perceive that I am off a journey.”
The master of the hotel bowed, and proceeded to show the count to a dressing-room.
When I returned up-stairs—“What was the matter?” inquired O’Brien. “O nothing!—a little disturbance in consequence of a foreigner not understanding English.”