see the Abbe
look alarmed, or even foolish.

"Egad, Abbe," said he, "you turn as white as a sheet."

"I don't fancy being murdered, my Lord," said the Abbe, hastily;
"and murdered for a good work. It was but to be useful to yonder poor
Irishman, who saved me as a prisoner in Flanders, when Marlborough would
have hung me up like poor Macshane himself was yesterday."

"Ah!" said the Count, bursting out with some energy, "I was thinking who
the fellow could be, ever since he robbed me on the Heath. I recollect
the scoundrel now: he was a second in a duel I had here in the year
six."

"Along with Major Wood, behind Montague House," said Mr. Billings. "I'VE
heard on it." And here he looked more knowing than ever.

"YOU!" cried the Count, more and more surprised. "And pray who the devil
ARE you?"

"My name's Billings."

"Billings?" said the Count.

"I come out of Warwickshire," said Mr. Billings.

"Indeed!"

"I was born at Birmingham town."

"Were you, really!"

"My mother's name was Hayes," continued Billings, in a solemn voice. "I
was put out to a nurse along with John Billings, a blacksmith; and my
father run away. NOW do you know who I am?"

"Why, upon honour, now," said the Count, who was amused,--"upon honour,
Mr. Billings, I have not that advantage."

"Well, then, my Lord, YOU'RE MY FATHER!"

Mr. Billings when he said this came forward to the Count with a
theatrical air; and, flinging down the breeches of which he was the
bearer, held out his arms and stared, having very little doubt but that
his Lordship would forthwith spring out of bed and hug him to his heart.
A similar piece of naivete many fathers of families have, I have no
doubt, remarked in their children; who, not caring for their parents a
single doit, conceive, nevertheless, that the latter are bound to show
all sorts of affection for them. His lordship did move, but backwards
towards the wall, and began pulling at the bell-rope with an expression
of the most intense alarm.

"Keep back, sirrah!--keep back! Suppose I AM your father, do you want
to murder me? Good heavens! how the boy smells of gin and tobacco! Don't
turn away, my lad; sit down there at a proper distance. And, La Rose,
give him some eau-de-Cologne, and get a cup of coffee. Well, now, go on
with your story. Egad, my dear Abbe, I think it is very likely that what
the lad says is true."

"If it is a family conversation," said the Abbe, "I had better leave
you."

"Oh, fo