the first thing that caught his eye was Jorrocks’s sword, which Agamemnon had been burnishing up with sandpaper and leather, lying on a table before the window.  This was not very encouraging, but Agamemnon gave no time for reflection, and opening half a light salmon-coloured folding door directly opposite the one by which he entered, the Yorkshireman passed through, unannounced and unperceived by Mr. Jorrocks or the Countess, who were completely absorbed in a game of dominoes, sitting on opposite sides of a common deal table, whose rose-coloured silk cover was laid over the back of a chair.  Jorrocks was sitting on a stool with his back to the door, and the Countess being very intent on the game, Mr. Stubbs had time for a hasty survey of the company and apartment before she looked up.  It was about one o’clock, and of course she was still en deshabille, with her nightcap on, a loose robe de chambre of flannel, and a flaming broad-striped red-and-black Scotch shawl thrown over her shoulders, and swan’s-down-lined slippers on her feet.  Mr. Jorrocks had his leather pantaloons on, with a rich blue and yellow brocade dressing-gown, and blue morocco slippers to match.  His jack-boots, to which he had added a pair of regimental heel-spurs, were airing before a stove, which contained the dying embers of a small log.  The room was low, and contained the usual allowance of red figured velvet-cushioned chairs, with brass nails; the window curtains were red-and-white on rings and gilded rods; a secretaire stood against one of the walls, and there was a large mirror above the marble mantelpiece, which supported a clock surmounted by a flying Cupid, and two vases of artificial flowers covered with glass, on one of which was placed an elegant bonnet of the newest and most approved fashion.  The floor, of highly polished oak, was strewed about with playbills, slippers, curl-papers, boxes, cards, dice, ribbons, dirty handkerchiefs, etc.; and on one side of the deal table was a plate containing five well-picked mutton-chop bones, and hard by lay Mr. Jorrocks’s mustachios and a dirty small tooth-comb.

Just as the Yorkshireman had got thus far in his survey, the Countess gave the finishing stroke to the game, and Mr. Jorrocks, jumping up in a rage, gave his leathers such a slap as sent a cloud of pipe-clay flying into his face.  “Vous avez the devil’s own luck”; exclaimed he, repeating the blow, when, to avoid the cloud, he turned short round, and encountered the Yorkshireman.

“How now?” roared he at the top of his voice, “who sent for you?  Have you come here to insult me in my own house?  I’ll lay my soul to an ’oss-shoe, I’ll be too many for ye!  Where’s my sword?”

“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.