“He is a Gascon, and comes from the borders of Spain,” Strong answered. “I told him he would lose his place if he walked with you.”
“Poor Monsieur Mirobolant!” said Blanche.
“Did you see the look he gave Pendennis?”—Strong asked, enjoying the idea of the mischief—“I think he would like to run little Pen through with one of his spits.”
“He is an odious, conceited, clumsy creature, that Mr. Pen,” said Blanche.
“Broadfoot looked as if he would like to kill him too, so did Pynsent,” Strong said. “What ice will you have—water ice or cream ice?”
“Water ice. Who is that odd man staring at me—he is decore too.”
“That is my friend Colonel Altamont, a very queer character, in the service of the Nawaub of Lucknow. Hallo! what’s that noise? I’ll be back in an instant,” said the Chevalier, and sprang out of the room to the ballroom, where a scuffle and a noise of high voices was heard.
The refreshment-room, in which Miss Amory now found herself, was a room set apart for the purposes of supper, which Mr. Rincer the landlord had provided for those who chose to partake, at the rate of five shillings per head. Also, refreshments of a superior class were here ready for the ladies and gentlemen of the county families who came to the ball; but the commoner sort of persons were kept out of the room by a waiter who stood at the portal, and who said that was a select room for Lady Clavering and Lady Rockminster’s parties, and not to be opened to the public till supper-time, which was not to be until past midnight. Pynsent, who danced with his constituents’ daughters, took them and their mammas in for their refreshment there. Strong, who was manager and master of the revels wherever he went, had of course the entree—and the only person who was now occupying the room was the gentleman with the black wig and the orders in his button-hole; the officer in the service of his Highness the Nawaub of Lucknow.
This gentleman had established himself very early in the evening in this apartment, where, saying he was confoundedly thirsty, he called for a bottle of champagne. At this order the waiter instantly supposed that he had to do with a grandee, and the Colonel sate down and began to eat his supper and absorb his drink, and enter affably into conversation with anybody who entered the room.
Sir Francis Clavering and Mr. Wagg found him there, when they left the ballroom, which they did pretty early—Sir Francis to go and smoke a cigar, and look at the people gathered outside the ballroom on the shore, which he declared was much better fun than to remain within; Mr. Wagg to hang on to a Baronet’s arm, as he was always pleased to do on the arm of the greatest man in the company. Colonel Altamont had stared at these gentlemen in so odd a manner, as they passed through the ‘Select’ room, that Clavering made inquiries of the landlord who he was, and hinted a strong opinion that the officer of the Nawaub’s service was drunk.