eplied, "Sir, I mean what I say.
I don't care for living: no, nor for dying either; but I can speak as
well as another, and I'll thank you not to be correcting my phrases as
if I were one of your cursed schoolboys, and not a gentleman of fortune
and blood."

Herewith the Count, who had uttered four sentences about himself (he
never spoke of anything else), sunk back on his pillows again, quite
exhausted by his eloquence. The Abbe, who had a seat and a table by the
bedside, resumed the labours which had brought him into the room in the
morning, and busied himself with papers, which occasionally he handed
over to his superior for approval.

Presently Monsieur la Rose appeared.

"Here is a person with clothes from Mr. Beinkleider's. Will your
Excellency see him, or shall I bid him leave the clothes?"

The Count was very much fatigued by this time; he had signed three
papers, and read the first half-a-dozen lines of a pair of them.

"Bid the fellow come in, La Rose; and, hark ye, give me my wig: one
must show one's self to be a gentleman before these scoundrels." And he
therefore mounted a large chestnut-coloured, orange-scented pyramid of
horsehair, which was to awe the new-comer.

He was a lad of about seventeen, in a smart waistcoat and a blue riband:
our friend Tom Billings, indeed. He carried under his arm the Count's
destined breeches. He did not seem in the least awed, however, by
his Excellency's appearance, but looked at him with a great degree of
curiosity and boldness. In the same manner he surveyed the chaplain, and
then nodded to him with a kind look of recognition.

"Where have I seen the lad?" said the father. "Oh, I have it! My good
friend, you were at the hanging yesterday, I think?"

Mr. Billings gave a very significant nod with his head. "I never miss,"
said he.

"What a young Turk! And pray, sir, do you go for pleasure, or for
business?"

"Business! what do you mean by business?"

"Oh, I did not know whether you might be brought up to the trade, or
your relations be undergoing the operation."

"My relations," said Mr. Billings, proudly, and staring the Count full
in the face, "was not made for no such thing. I'm a tailor now, but I'm
a gentleman's son: as good a man, ay, as his lordship there: for YOU
a'n't his lordship--you're the Popish priest you are; and we were very
near giving you a touch of a few Protestant stones, master."

The Count began to be a little amused: he was pleased to