“I don’t see why I shouldn’t be introduced as well as you.”
Alphonso, who privately considered himself more high-toned than Kidder, felt that there was good reason, but did not think it policy to pursue the subject.
Probably Mr. Jones referred to the Count Ernest de Montmorency at least thirty times that day, and succeeded in arousing the curiosity and envy of such of his acquaintances as were not in the secret. He indulged in many a gorgeous day-dream, in which he figured as the brother-in-law of the count, with a beautiful chateau of his own, and this continued for several days. But his dreams were destined to a rude awakening.
One evening, in passing through Bleeker Street, Mr. Jones strolled into a barber shop, which he had never before entered. He glanced carelessly about him, when he made a sudden start, and gasped for breath. There, behind a barber’s chair, in the act of shaving a red-headed man, was the elegant Count Ernest de Montmorency!
The count looked up and met Alphonso’s astonished gaze.
“Good-evening, M. Alphonse,” he said, with a nod and a smile.
“Good-evening,” ejaculated Alphonso, with difficulty.
How could he say “my lord count” to a barber?
“Are you the—the—gentleman I met at the room of my friend, Mr. Ingalls?” asked Mr. Jones.
“The same. I will explain hereafter,” said the count, mysteriously.