id to him when they were in
London, and Harry had spoken about his godpapa, when the Frenchman said,
"_Parbleu!_ one sees well that my lord is your godfather"; words whereof
the poor lad did not know the meaning then, though he apprehended the
truth in a very short time afterwards, and learned it and thought of it
with no small feeling of shame.

Taking Harry by the hand as soon as they were both descended from their
horses, Mr. Holt led him across the court, and under a low door to rooms
on a level with the ground; one of which Father Holt said was to be the
boy's chamber, the other on the other side of the passage being the
father's own; and as soon as the little man's face was washed, and the
father's own dress arranged, Harry's guide took him once more to the door
by which my lord had entered the hall, and up a stair, and through an
ante-room to my lady's drawing-room--an apartment than which Harry thought
he had never seen anything more grand--no, not in the Tower of London which
he had just visited. Indeed the chamber was richly ornamented in the
manner of Queen Elizabeth's time, with great stained windows at either
end, and hangings of tapestry, which the sun shining through the coloured
glass painted of a thousand hues; and here in state, by the fire, sat a
lady to whom the priest took up Harry, who was indeed amazed by her
appearance.

My lady viscountess's face was daubed with white and red up to the eyes,
to which the paint gave an unearthly glare: she had a tower of lace on her
head, under which was a bush of black curls--borrowed curls--so that no
wonder little Harry Esmond was scared when he was first presented to
her--the kind priest acting as master of the ceremonies at that solemn
introduction--and he stared at her with eyes almost as great as her own, as
he had stared at the player-woman who acted the wicked tragedy-queen, when
the players came down to Ealing Fair. She sat in a great chair by the
fire-corner; in her lap was a spaniel-dog that barked furiously; on a
little table by her was her ladyship's snuff-box and her sugar-plum box.
She wore a dress of black velvet, and a petticoat of flame-coloured
brocade. She had as many rings on her fingers as the old woman of Banbury
Cross; and pretty small feet which she was fond of showing, with great
gold clocks to her stockings, and white pantofles with red heels; and an
odour of musk was shook out of her garments whenever she moved or quitted
the room, l