Ul. (archly.) Your son! your son is absent, then!
Bar. He is: but the countess has undertaken to see him brought home; and I don't know who she alludes to, but it seems she talks of catching more troublesome people. [Here Ulrica makes signs to Christopher to be gone, and he steals towards the stage door, behind the baron and Oliver] And so, Oliver, bring me a chair, old Oliver; [Oliver gives him one] for here I'll sit.—[Christopher opens the door, and is going, when the baron hears him.]—Why, what's that? [In his agitation Christopher turns sharply round, and faces the baron, holding the door wide open in his hand.] Zounds! where do you come from?
Chris. Come! I come from—— [Amazed.
Bar. Ay, what brings you, sir? And don't—don't stand staring there with the door open. Either (beating his cane violently against the floor) either come in or go out.
Chris. Out, if you please, sir. [Exit.
Bar. (pulling him back) Stop; this won't do. How came you in my house?
Chris. (confused) Came! why I came from young count Roland, sir.
Bar. Oh! you want to see the countess, then.
Chris. Thank ye, I have seen her; and as her answer isn't at all satisfactory, I hope shortly to return, and take something much more satisfactory. Looking significantly at Ulrica, and going, Ulrica nods in return.
Ol. (coming between him and the door.) I dare say you do; but—he! he! he! the little old butler will prevent you. My lord, just now, instead of a message from count Roland, this fellow talk'd of your keeping low company.—(Christopher shakes his head to stop him.) You did! you actually hinted, that one of our fine ladies was no better than old Winifred Winbuttle, a housekeeper—