’Phew!’—­which struck the rabble below with awe of the cunning of the Old Buccaneer; and there was no need for them to hear General Abrane say:  ‘Right!  Jack, we’ve a dead one in hand,’ or Jack Potts reply: 

’It’s ten thousand pounds clean winged away from my pocket, like a string of wild geese!’

The excitement of the varletry in the square, they say, was fearful to hear.  So the principal noblemen and gentlemen concerned thought it prudent to hurry the young woman into the house and bar the door; and there she was very soon stripped of veil and blonde false wig with long curls, the whole framing of her artificial resemblance to Countess Fanny, and she proved to be a good-looking foreign maid, a dark one, powdered, trembling very much, but not so frightened upon hearing that her penalty for the share she had taken in the horrid imposture practised upon them was to receive and return a salute from each of the gentlemen in rotation; which the hussy did with proper submission; and Jack Potts remarked, that ‘it was an honest buss, but dear at ten thousand!’

When you have been the victim of a deceit, the explanation of the simplicity of the trick turns all the wonder upon yourself, you know, and the backers of the Old Buccaneer and the wagerers against him crowed and groaned in chorus at the maid’s narrative of how the moment Countess Fanny had thrown up the window of her carriage, she sprang out to a carriage on the off side, containing Kirby, and how she, this little French jade, sprang in to take her place.  One snap of the fingers and the transformation was accomplished.  So for another kiss all round they let her go free, and she sat at the supper-table prepared for Countess Fanny and the party by order of Lord Levellier, and amused the gentlemen with stories of the ladies she had served, English and foreign.  And that is how men are taught to think they know our sex and may despise it!  I could preach them a lesson.  Those men might as well not believe in the steadfastness of the very stars because one or two are reported lost out of the firmament, and now and then we behold a whole shower of fragments descending.  The truth is, they have taken a stain from the life they lead, and are troubled puddles, incapable of clear reflection.  To listen to the tattle of a chatting little slut, and condemn the whole sex upon her testimony, is a nice idea of justice.  Many of the gentlemen present became notorious as woman-scorners, whether owing to Countess Fanny or other things.  Lord Levellier was, and Lord Fleetwood, the wicked man!  And certainly the hearing of naughty stories of us by the light of a grievous and vexatious instance of our misconduct must produce an impression.  Countess Fanny’s desperate passion for a man of the age of Kirby struck them as out of nature.  They talked of it as if they could have pardoned her a younger lover.

All that Lord Cressett said, on the announcement of the flight of his wife, was:  ‘Ah!  Fan! she never would run in my ribbons.’