He advanced and rapped at the door. The sound rang in the interior, and presently Mungo's shuffling steps were heard and his voice behind the door inquiring who was there.
“A friend,” answered Count Victor, humouring the little old man's fancy for affairs of arms.
“A friend!” repeated Mungo with contempt. “A man on a horse has aye hunders o' frien's in the gutter, as Annapla says, and it wad need to be somethin' rarer to get into Doom i' the mirk o' nicht. I opened the door to a frien' the ither nicht and he gripped me by the craig and fair choked me afore I could cry a barley.”
“Peste! Do not flatter my English so much as to tell me you do not recognise Count Victor's accent through a door.”
“Lord keep 's!” cried Mungo, hastily drawing his bolts. “Hae ye changed ye'r mind already and left the inns? It's a guid thing for your wife ye're no marrit, or she wad be the sorry woman wi' sic a shiftin' man.”
His astonishment was even greater when Count Victor stood before him a ludicrous figure with his too ample coat.
“Dinna tell me ye hae come through the snaw this nicht like that!” he cried incredulous, holding up his candle the better to examine the figure.
Count Victor laughed, and for an answer simply thrust forth a sopping foot to his examination.
“Man, ye must hae been hot on't!” said the servant, shaking his cowled head till the tassel danced above his temple. “Ye'r shoon's fair steeped wi' water. Water's an awfu' thing to rot ye'r boots; I aye said if it rotted ane's boots that way, whit wad it no' dae to ane's stamach? Oh, sirs! sirs! this is becomin' the throng hoose, wi' comin's and goin's and raps and roars and collie-shangies o' a' kin's. If it wasna me was the canny gaird o't it's Himsel' wad hae to flit for the sake o' his nicht's sleep.”
“You behold, Mungo, the daw in borrowed plumes,” said Count Victor as the door was being barred again. “I hope the daw felt more comfortable than I do in mine,” and he ruefully surveyed his apparel. “Does Master Mungo recognise these peacock feathers?”