The Count, recovering his presence of mind, and presence of countenance, turned to a little Cupid on the mantel-piece; and, playfully doing homage before it, repeated,
“Qui que tu sois voici ton maître,
Il l’est, le fut—ou le doit être.”
“Oh! charming—oh! for a translation!” cried Mrs. Falconer, glad to turn the attention from Georgiana:—“Lady Frances—ladies some of you, Miss Percy, here’s my pencil.”
Here they were interrupted by Mr. Percy’s return from Lord Oldborough’s.
The commissioner followed Mr. Percy into the room, and asked, and was answered, a variety of questions about despatches from town; trying, but, in vain, to find out what had been going forward. At last he ended with a look of absence, and a declaration that he was quite happy to hear that Lord Oldborough had so completely got rid of his gout.
“Completely,” said Mr. Percy; “and he desires me to tell you, that it will be necessary for him to return to town in a few days.”
“In a few days!” cried the commissioner.
“In a few days!” repeated several voices, in different tones.
“In a few days!—Gracious Heaven! and what will become of ‘the Lord of the Manor!’” cried Miss Falconer.
“Gently, my Arabella! never raise your voice so high—you, who are a musician,” said Mrs. Falconer, “and so sweet a voice as you have—in general. Besides,” added she, drawing her apart, “you forget that you should not speak of ‘the Lord of the Manor’ before the Percys, as they are not to be asked.”