The girl, though ready to shriek with horror and faint with disgust, still, by a violent effort, held the “dodeen” between her lips. The Count, she said to herself, would be sure to return directly, and then she would be free from all further insult and persecution.
The friend of the cab-driver, determined not to be outdone by his companion, and discovering on the hob a lump of the charcoal that the Frenchmen had used to heat their bachelor’s kettle, seized it, and, approaching the alarmed Miss Chutney, began tracing on her upper lip a huge pair of black mustachios.
This drollery tickled the driver of the cab to such a degree, that, spurred on by the comical appearance of the “model,” he ran to the grate, and having provided himself with another piece of the dingy material, began, in his turn, to adorn the lady’s cheeks with an equally enormous pair of whiskers.
The wretched Miss Chutney felt every minute that she must give way under the accumulated insults she was enduring, and had it not been for her reliance on the Count’s immediate return, she would have startled her tormentors by taking to her heels; but every minute she consoled and sustained herself with the assurance, that the next moment would bring her protector to her relief. “Oh!” she thought to herself, as she felt the cabman charcoaling her eyebrows, “if I had only known half I should have to go through, I’m sure I should never have dreamt of making such a silly of myself.”
The embellishment of the “model’s” countenance being finished, the cabman and his “buck” retired a few paces to examine the effect of their handiwork, and burst into a suppressed fit of laughter at the extreme incongruity of the lady’s appearance—and certainly the extraordinary hirsute character of Miss Chutney’s countenance at that moment, embellished, as it was, with the most extravagant hairy appendages, was sufficient to burst the waistcoat-strings of any gentleman gifted with the slightest sense of the ridiculous.
The cabman and his companion were roused from their mirth by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. In their fear of discovery, it was the work of a moment for the driver to pull his wash-leather from his pocket, and endeavour, by rubbing at Miss Chutney’s face, to remove the black marks from it. This, however, had the effect of distributing the charcoal evenly over the whole of the young lady’s countenance, so that the operation served merely to transform her into a negress.
But there was no time for the men to resort to more effectual means of cleaning the face of the model, so, letting fall the black crape, they began to prepare for the removal of the “figure” down stairs; and then Miss Chutney, to her indescribable horror, heard the men propose that one should take the “old gal” by the head, and the other by the feet. A dispute, however, arose as to the practicability of that measure, owing to the peculiar construction of the staircase, whereupon it was suggested by the driver, that the best way perhaps, after all, would be to have up the rope from the foot of the cab, and lower the thing down out of the window; and no sooner was this course agreed upon, than the men retired together for the cord with which to put it into execution.
Immediately the driver and his companion had quitted the apartment, the terrified Chutney lifted up the long black robe of the Sister of Charity, and scampered off as fast as her legs, under the circumstances, could carry her. She had just reached the door, when the Count, who was hurrying back to her with all possible speed, ran bump against her, and, seizing her by the arm, exclaimed in as good English as he was master of—
“Mon petit chou! vot go you to do? Reste tranquille, je t’en prie! In von minoot you sall be mine for nevare!”
“Oh, if I could tell you all!” she cried, falling into his arms; “take me away!” she whispered—“take me away! if you would not have me die!”