Upon this Mr. Hanson broke out in a kind of Excitement.
“Would to God!” said he, “that this Swede Vratz had stayed out of England, for I think he will be the Engine of some harm to my Lord.” Then he went on to say that he was in no way responsible for the Count Charles but only for the other lord, Philip his younger Brother.
“But I must help a great man where I can,” he added, and seemed Troubled.
The Polander Wondered he should speak so to a Servant, but dare say no more but followed him out into the cold streets of London. It was bitter enough and the Polander was in Rags, but the Buildings and the people so pleased him that he took no heed of the Sharpness of the weather but smiled to himself with pleasure at a City so Fine. So they came to St. Martin’s Lane where the Count Lodged and in a room mean enough, high up, a place strange for a Man of Quality.
“My Lord Lodged in the Haymarket” said Mr. Hanson, “but the Chimney smoked so that he was fain to move”–and with that he opened a Door and the Polander followed him into the Count’s Chamber.
This was an ill habitation for a Gentleman, being mean and low and of a poor Furnishing. There was a fire on the hearth, very brightly burning, and near the window a Bed, on which my lord the Count Charles lay, wrapped in a Flowered Robe of taffeta stuff.
He was a very young Gentleman, fair and pale, with a look of fear in eyes of an unusual bright blue; at the entry of Mr. Hanson and the Polander he sprang to a sitting posture on the Bed.
“This is the fellow, my Lord,” said the Governor.
The Count gave the Polander a Look of a startling keenness.
“Are you trustworthy?” says he.