d to have
enjoyed was that of riding bareheaded in a soaking rain for three hours
by the side of his Grand Duke's mistress's coach; taking the pas of
Count Krahwinkel, who challenged him, and was run through the body for
this very dispute. Galgenstein gained a rheumatic gout by it, which put
him to tortures for many months; and was further gratified with the post
of English Envoy. He had a fortune, he asked no salary, and could
look the envoy very well. Father O'Flaherty did all the duties, and
furthermore acted as a spy over the ambassador--a sinecure post, for the
man had no feelings, wishes, or opinions--absolutely none.

"Upon my life, father," said this worthy man, "I care for nothing. You
have been talking for an hour about the Regent's death, and the Duchess
of Phalaris, and sly old Fleury, and what not; and I care just as much
as if you told me that one of my bauers at Galgenstein had killed a pig;
or as if my lacquey, La Rose yonder, had made love to my mistress."

"He does!" said the reverend gentleman.

"Ah, Monsieur l'Abbe!" said La Rose, who was arranging his master's
enormous Court periwig, "you are, helas! wrong. Monsieur le Comte will
not be angry at my saying that I wish the accusation were true."

The Count did not take the slightest notice of La Rose's wit, but
continued his own complaints.

"I tell you, Abbe, I care for nothing. I lost a thousand guineas t'other
night at basset; I wish to my heart I could have been vexed about it.
Egad! I remember the day when to lose a hundred made me half mad for
a month. Well, next day I had my revenge at dice, and threw thirteen
mains. There was some delay; a call for fresh bones, I think; and would
you believe it?--I fell asleep with the box in my hand!"

"A desperate case, indeed," said the Abbe.

"If it had not been for Krahwinkel, I should have been a dead man,
that's positive. That pinking him saved me."

"I make no doubt of it," said the Abbe. "Had your Excellency not run him
through, he, without a doubt, would have done the same for you."

"Psha! you mistake my words, Monsieur l'Abbe" (yawning). "I mean--what
cursed chocolate!--that I was dying for want of excitement. Not that I
cared for dying; no, d---- me if I do!"

"WHEN you do, your Excellency means," said the Abbe, a fat grey-haired
Irishman, from the Irlandois College at Paris.

His Excellency did not laugh, nor understand jokes of any kind; he was
of an undeviating stupidity, and only r