“D—­n your displeasancies!” roared Jorrocks, “and that’s swearing—­a thing I’ve never done since my brother Joe fobbed me of my bottom piece of muffin.  Out with you, I say!  Out with ye! you’re a nasty dirty blackguard; I’m done with you for ever.  I detest the sight of you and hate ye afresh every time I see you!”

“Doucement, mon cher Colonel,” interposed the Countess, “ve sall play anoder game, and you sall had von better chance,” clapping him on the back as she spoke.  “I von’t!” bellowed Jorrocks.  “Turn this chap out first.  I’ll do it myself.  H’Agamemnon!  H’Agamemnon! happortez my sword! bring my sword! tout suite, directly!”

“Police!  Police!  Police!” screamed the Countess out of the window; “Police!  Police!  Police!” bellowed Agamemnon from the next one; “Police!  Police!  Police!” re-echoed the grisly porter down below; and before they had time to reflect on what had passed, a sergeant’s file of the National Guard had entered the hotel, mounted the stairs, and taken possession of the apartment.  The sight of the soldiers with their bright bayonets, all fixed and gleaming as they were, cooled Mr. Jorrocks’s courage in an instant, and, after standing a few seconds in petrified astonishment, he made a dart at his jack-boots and bolted out of the room.  The Countess Benvolio then unlocked her secretaire, in which was a plated liqueur-stand with bottles and glasses, out of which she poured the sergeant three, and the privates two glasses each of pure eau-de-vie, after which Agamemnon showed them the top of the stairs.

In less than ten minutes all was quiet again, and the Yorkshireman was occupying Mr. Jorrocks’s stool.  The Countess then began putting things a little in order, adorned the deal table with the rose-coloured cover—­before doing which she swept off Mr. Jorrocks’s mustachios, and thrust a dirty white handkerchief and the small tooth-comb under the cushion of a chair—­while Agamemnon carried away the plate with the bones.  “Ah, le pauvre Colonel,” said the Countess, eyeing the bones as they passed, “he sall be von grand homme to eat—­him eat toujours—­all day long—­Oh, him mange beaucoup—­beaucoup—­beaucoup.  He is von vare amiable man, bot he sall not be moch patience.  I guess he sall be vare rich—­n’est ce pas? have many guinea?—­He say he keep beaucoup des chiens—­many dogs for the hont—­he sail be vot dey call rom customer (rum customer) in Angleterre, I think.”

Thus she went rattling on, telling the Yorkshireman all sorts of stories about the pauvre Colonel, whom she seemed ready to change for a younger piece of goods with a more moderate appetite; and finding Mr. Stubbs more complaisant than he had been in the diligence, she concluded by proposing that he should accompany the Colonel and herself to a soiree-dansante that evening at a friend of hers, another Countess, in the “Rue des Bons-Enfants.”