“He puts Words on me that are no wise to be borne!”
“Is it for the words he Used or for the sake of the Red Haired Girl you saw at the Hague?” asked Mr. Hanson, biting the end Curls of his Peruke.
“He called me a Hector,” said my Lord, “and Laughed at my Horse–and, by God, you shall leave the Lady Ogle Out of this!”
“Your Lordship has not left her Out,” answered Mr. Hanson, “for you bid me discover if you would have any Hopes of her if you got rid of her Husband—”
At this Point the Count bid the Polander go down to the Kitchens of the house and dine, and he added that in this place he was known as Carlo Cuski, and not by his Real Name.
Thereupon the Polander went; there was a Man and a Maid and a Boy in the Kitchen who had no Language but English, so the Count’s man ate his meat in Silence and was presently going to the place appointed to him to sleep in when a young Gentleman, very finely Dressed in Blue, came down, and speaking German, bade him Come up to the Count, which he did and found to his vast Joy, Captain Vratz with his Lordship.
“Come here, Fellow,” said my Lord; he stood up in the Light of the Fire and his slight figure in the Limp Gown, the Night Cap pulled over his tumbled Hair, his pallid face with the feverish eyes was in a Contrast with the Men of Lesser Quality who were Splendid enough in cut Velvet and Lace and Tassels.
Christopher Vratz lifted his Face flushed with Fairness after the fashion of the Swedelander and looked at the Polander.
“You are my Servant now, Borosky,” said he.