“They are all now perfectly well, ma’am,” replied Mr. Mountague, “except, indeed, that Mrs. Temple had a slight cold last week.”
“But she is re-establish by your advise, I suppose? and she—did she recommend you to miladi?”
“No, madam,” said Mr. Mountague, not a little puzzled by mademoiselle’s phraseology: “Lord George —— did me the honour to introduce me to Lady S——.”
“Ah, Milord George! are you a long time acquainted wid milord?”
“Yes, ma’am, I have known Lord George many years.”
“Ah, many year!—you be de family physician, apparemment?”
“The family physician! Oh no, ma’am!” said Mr. Mountague, smiling.
“Eh!” said mademoiselle, “but dat is being too modest. Many take de titre of physician, I’ll engage, wid less pretensions. And,” added she, looking graciously, “absolument, I will not have you call yourself de family apothicaire.”
At this moment Lord George came in, and shook his family apothecary by the hand, with an air of familiarity which astounded mademoiselle. “Qu’est ce que c’est?” whispered she to Dashwood, who followed his lordship: “is not dis his apothicaire?” Dashwood, at this question, burst into a loud laugh. “Mr. Mountague,” cried he, “have you been prescribing for mademoiselle? she asks if you are not an apothecary.”
Immediately Lord George, who was fond of a joke, especially where there was a chance of throwing ridicule upon any body superior to him in abilities, joined most heartily in Dashwood’s mirth; repeating the story, as “an excellent thing,” to every one, as they came down to breakfast; especially to Lady Augusta, whom he congratulated, the moment she entered the room, upon her having danced the preceding evening with an apothecary. “Here he is!” said he, pointing to Mr. Mountague.