Then Harry got up to depart, having done his work.  “What, you are going in that way at once?  You are in a hurry?”

“Well, yes; I am in a hurry, rather, Madam Gordeloup.  I have got to be at my office, and I only just came up here to find out your brother’s address.”  Then he rose and went, leaving the note behind him.

Then Madam Gordeloup, speaking to herself in French, called Harry Clavering a lout, a fool, an awkward, overgrown boy, and a pig.  She declared him to be a pig nine times over, then shook herself in violent disgust, and after that betook herself to the letter.

The letter was at any rate duly sent to the count, for before Harry had left Mr. Beilby’s chambers on that day, Pateroff came to him there.  Harry sat in the same room with other men, and therefore went out to see his acquaintance in a little antechamber that was used for such purposes.  As he walked from one room to the other, he was conscious of the delicacy and difficulty of the task before him, and the color was high in his face as he opened the door.  But when he had done so, he saw that the count was not alone.  A gentleman was with him whom he did not introduce to Harry, and before whom Harry could not say that which he had to communicate.

“Pardon me,” said the count, “but we are in a railroad hurry.  Nobody ever was in such a haste as I and my friend.  You are not engaged to-morrow?  No, I see.  You dine with me and my friend at the Blue Posts.  You know the Blue Posts?”

Harry said he did not know the Blue Posts.

“Then you shall know the Blue Posts.  I will be your instructor.  You drink claret.  Come and see.  You eat beefsteaks.  Come and try.  You love one glass of port wine with your cheese.  No.  But you shall love it when you have dined with me at the Blue Posts.  We will dine together after the English way—­which is the best way in the world when it is quite good.  It is quite good at the Blue Posts—­quite good!  Seven o’clock.  You are fined when a minute late; an extra glass of port wine a minute.  Now I must go.  Ah; yes.  I am ruined already.”

Then Count Pateroff, holding his watch in his hand, bolted out of the room before Harry could say a word to him.

He had nothing for it but to go to the dinner, and to the dinner he went.  On that same evening, the evening of the day on which he had seen Sophie and her brother, he wrote to Lady Ongar, using to her the same manner of writing that she had used to him, and telling her that he had done his best; that he had now seen whom he had been desired to see, but that he had not been able to speak to him.  He was, however, to dine with him on the following day, and would call in Bolton Street as soon as possible after that interview.

Exactly at seven o’clock, Harry, having the fear of the threatened fine before his eyes, was at the Blue Posts; and there, standing in the middle of the room, he saw Count Pateroff.  With Count Pateroff was the same gentleman whom Harry had seen at the Adelphi, and whom the count now introduced as Colonel Schmoff; and also a little Englishman with a knowing eye and a bull-dog neck, and whiskers cut very short and trim—­a horsey little man, whom the count also introduced.  “Captain Boodle says he knows a cousin of yours, Mr. Clavering.”