"Now, my good Mr. Jorrocks," replied the Yorkshireman very mildly, "pray, don't put yourself into a passion—consider the lady, and don't let us have any unpleasantness in Madame la Duchesse Benvolio's house," making her a very low bow as he spoke, and laying his hand on his heart.
"D—n your displeasancies!" roared Jorrocks, "and that's swearing—a thing I've never done since my brother Joe fobbed me of my bottom piece of muffin. Out with you, I say! Out with ye! you're a nasty dirty blackguard; I'm done with you for ever. I detest the sight of you and hate ye afresh every time I see you!"
"Doucement, mon cher Colonel," interposed the Countess, "ve sall play anoder game, and you sall had von better chance," clapping him on the back as she spoke. "I von't!" bellowed Jorrocks. "Turn this chap out first. I'll do it myself. H'Agamemnon! H'Agamemnon! happortez my sword! bring my sword! tout suite, directly!"
"Police! Police! Police!" screamed the Countess out of the window; "Police! Police! Police!" bellowed Agamemnon from the next one; "Police! Police! Police!" re-echoed the grisly porter down below; and before they had time to reflect on what had passed, a sergeant's file of the National Guard had entered the hotel, mounted the stairs, and taken possession of the apartment. The sight of the soldiers with their bright bayonets, all fixed and gleaming as they were, cooled Mr. Jorrocks's courage in an instant, and, after standing a few seconds in petrified astonishment, he made a dart at his jack-boots and bolted out of the room. The Countess Benvolio then unlocked her secretaire, in which was a plated liqueur-stand with bottles and glasses, out of which she poured the sergeant three, and the privates two glasses each of pure eau-de-vie, after which Agamemnon showed them the top of the stairs.
In less than ten minutes all was quiet again, and the Yorkshireman was occupying Mr. Jorrocks's stool. The Countess then began putting things a little in order, adorned the deal table with the rose-coloured cover—before doing which she swept off Mr. Jorrocks's mustachios, and thrust a dirty white handkerchief and the small tooth-comb under the cushion of a chair—while Agamemnon carried away the plate with the bones. "Ah, le pauvre Colonel," said the Countess, eyeing the bones as they passed, "he sall be von grand homme to eat—him eat toujours—all day long—Oh, him mange beaucoup—beaucoup—beaucoup. He is von varé amiable man, bot he sall not be moch patience. I guess he sall be varé rich—n'est ce pas? have many guinea?—He say he keep beaucoup des chiens—many dogs for the hont—he sail be vot dey call rom customer (rum customer) in Angleterre, I think."
Thus she went rattling on, telling the Yorkshireman all sorts of stories about the pauvre Colonel, whom she seemed ready to change for a younger piece of goods with a more moderate appetite; and finding Mr. Stubbs more complaisant than he had been in the diligence, she concluded by proposing that he should accompany the Colonel and herself to a soirée-dansante that evening at a friend of hers, another Countess, in the "Rue des Bons-Enfants."
Being disengaged as usual, he at once assented, on condition that the Countess would effect a reconciliation between Mr. Jorrocks and himself, for which purpose she at once repaired to his room, and presently reappeared arm-in-arm with our late outrageously indignant hero. The Colonel had been occupying his time at the toilette, and was en grand costume—finely cleaned leathers, jack-boots and brass spurs, with a spick and span new blue military frock-coat, hooking and eyeing up to the chin, and all covered with braid, frogs, tags, and buttons.
"Dere be von beau garçon!" exclaimed the Countess, turning him round after having led him into the middle of the room—"dat habit does fit you like vax." "Yes," replied Mr. Jorrocks, raising his arms as though he were going to take flight, "but it is rather tight—partiklarly round the waist—shouldn't like to dine in it. What do you think of it?" turning round and addressing the Yorkshireman as if nothing had happened—"suppose you get one like it?" "Do," rejoined the Countess, "and some of the other things—vot you call them, Colonel?" "What—breeches?" "Yes, breeches—but the oder name—vot you call dem?" "Oh, leathers?" replied Mr. Jorrocks. "No, no, another name still." "I know no other. Pantaloons, perhaps, you mean?" "No, no, not pantaloons." "Not pantaloons?—then I know of nothing else. You don't mean these sacks of things, called trousers?" taking hold of the Yorkshireman's. "No, no, not trousers." "Then really, my lady, I don't know any other name." "Oh, yes, Colonel, you know the things I intend. Vot is it you call Davil in Angleterre?" "Oh, we have lots of names for him—Old Nick, for instance."—"Old Nick breeches," said the Countess thoughtfully; "no, dat sall not be it—vot else?" "Old Harry?" replied Mr. Jorrocks.—"Old Harry breeches," repeated the Countess in the hopes of catching the name by the ear—"no, nor dat either, encore anoder name, Colonel." "Old Scratch, then?" "Old Scratch breeches," re-echoed the Countess—"no, dat shall not do."—"Beelzebub?" rejoined Mr. Jorrocks. "Beelzebub breeches," repeated the Countess—"nor dat." "Satan, then?" said Mr. Jorrocks. "Oh oui!" responded the Countess with delight, "satan! black satan breeches—you shall von pair of black satan breeches, like the Colonel."
"And the Colonel will pay for them, I presume?" said the Yorkshireman, looking at Mr. Jorrocks.
"I carn't," said Mr. Jorrocks in an undertone; "I'm nearly cleaned out, and shall be in Short's Gardens before I know where I am, unless I hold better cards this evening than I've done yet. Somehow or other, these French are rather too sharp for me, and I've been down upon my luck ever since I came.—Lose every night, in fact, and then they are so werry anxious for me to have my rewenge, as they call it, that they make parties expressly for me every evening; but, instead of getting my rewenge, I only lose more and more money.—They seem to me always to turn up the king whenever they want him.—To-night we are going to a Countess's of werry great consequence, and, as you know écarté well, I'll back your play, and, perhaps, we may do something between us."