"Why the lady thought it just possible that the great Villainton, being an extraordinary man, might propose entering her drawing-room, on the outside of his charger, as being the most warrior-like mode of attacking her heart."
"You are a little fool," said Wellington, kissing me by main force.
"And then your routs are so ill conducted, the society so mixed."
"What is that to me? I don't invite the people. I suppose they ask everybody to avoid offence. Who the devil was that old woman last Friday?"
"What do you mean? I was not there. What sort of an old woman do you allude to?" I inquired, laughing.
"An old woman, with a piece of crape hanging down here," said he, pointing to his breast, "and ragged, red shoes."
"How am I to know all your ragamuffins?"
I hope my readers have now had enough of the immortal Wellington. In short, they must e'en be satisfied, whether they have or not; for they will get nothing better out of him.
Wellington was no inducement for me to prolong my stay in Paris, and as Buonaparte was now on his way from Elba, I began to prepare for my departure. The English were all hurrying away in a state of great alarm.