Look here now, Frans, you must represent your master, the noble and honourable gentleman, Jonkheer Karel Bernhard Anton Jozef Delmare Van Bergen Van Wiesendaal! (Raises his voice.) Entrez!
Enter General Van Weller, in undress uniform, with a riding-whip in his hand.
Frans (without looking round). Who’s there?
Van Weller. Look round, and perhaps you’ll know.
Frans. I’m just like Louis Napoleon’s knights—I do well, but I don’t care to look round.[[7]]
Van Weller (looks round with displeasure, then approaches and gazes fixedly for a few moments at Frans). No, you are not he. You are too low-looking a fellow to be my nephew. Who are you?
Frans (without changing his position). In the first place, or, as we used to say at Paris, primo, I must request you to allow me to express my thanks for your very flattering opinion with regard to my physiognomy; secundo, it would be the proper thing for you to do me the favour of informing me of your name.
“ENTREZ.”
Van Weller. Insolence personified!—my nephew cannot be far off. (To Frans.) My name is Jan Weller. Who are you?