"Why don't you have a pipe then? Come light up!"
"What, light up? Your ladyship will really allow me? You are sure you don't mind tobacco smoke? You are indeed a blessed creature. But are you sure it won't make your head ache?"
"On the contrary, I like tobacco smoke."
Squire Gerzson half drew out his cigar case, but he immediately shoved it back again.
"No, I won't smoke a cigar. One ought not to abuse one's good fortune. I shall get on well enough."
Then Henrietta began to tell him of Fatia Negra's Transylvanian exploits, of the Lucsia Cavern, of the capture of the coiners—and then she observed that Mr. Gerzson's eyelids were sinking lower and lower and he was nodding his head violently.
"Now you really must light up, papa Gerzson," she cried, "or you'll never be able to keep awake."
On being thus accosted, Mr. Gerzson bobbed up his head with a frightened air and rubbed his eyes, like one who has been suddenly aroused from slumber and knows not what is going on under his very nose.
"I am not asleep, 'pon my word I'm not. I was only nodding a little."
"Light a cigar."