“—­Drenchers and fleams!  The beauty should have been drenched and blooded—­”

“He’m too late for dat, Masser, on honor.”

“—­The obstinate hussy!  This comes of her Huguenot breed, a race that would quit house and lands rather than change its place of worship!”

“La famille de Barberie est honorable, Monsieur mais le Grand Monarque fut un pen trop exigeant.  Vraiment, la dragonade etait mal avisee, pour faire des chretiens!”

“Apoplexies and hurry! you should have sent for the farrier to administer to the sufferer, thou black hound!”

“’Em go for a butcher, Masser, to save he skin; for he war’ too soon dead.”

The word dead produced a sudden pause.  The preceding dialogue had been so rapid, and question and answer, no less than the ideas of the principal speaker, had got so confused, that, for a moment, he was actually at a loss to understand, whether the last great debt of nature had been paid by la belle Barberie, or one of the Flemish geldings.  Until now, consternation, as well as the confusion of the interview, had constrained the Patroon to be silent, but he profited by the breathing-time to interpose.

“It is evident, Mr. Van Beverout,” he said, speaking with a tremor in the voice, which betrayed his own uneasiness, “that some untoward event has occurred.  Perhaps the negro and I had better retire, that you may question Francis concerning that which hath befallen Mademoiselle Barberie, more at your leisure.”

The Alderman was recalled from a profound stupor, by this gentlemanlike and considerate proposal.  He bowed his acknowledgments, and permitted Mr. Van Staats to quit the room; but when Euclid would have followed, he signed to the negro to remain.

“I may have occasion to question thee farther,” he said, in a voice that had lost most of that compass and depth for which it was so remarkable.  “Stand there, sirrah, and be in readiness to answer.  And now, Mr. Francis, I desire to know why my niece declines taking the breakfast with myself and my guest?”

“Mon Dieu, Monsieur, it is not possible y repondre Les sentiments des demoiselles are nevair decides!”

“Go then, and say to her, that my sentiments are decided to curtail certain bequests and devises, which have consulted her interests more than strict justice to others of my blood—­ay, and even of my name, might dictate.”

“Monsieur y reflechira.  Mam’selle Alide be so young personne!”

“Old or young, my mind is made up; and so to your Cour des Fees, and tell the lazy minx as much.—­Thou hast ridden that innocent, thou scowling imp of darkness!”

“Mais, pensez-y, je vous en prie, Monsieur.  Mam’selle shall nevair se sauver encore; jamais, je vous en repond.”

“What is the fellow jabbering about?” exclaimed the Alderman, whose mouth fell nearly to the degree that rendered the countenance of the valet so singularly expressive of distress.  “Where is my niece, Sir?—­and what means this allusion to her absence?”