elligerent aspect.

Mr. Stubbs, as usual, interposed, and the Countess, still keeping up the
semblance of her rage, ordered them to quit her apartment directly, or
she would have recourse to her old friends the police. Mr. Stubbs was
quite agreeable to go, but he hinted that she might as well hand over
the stakes that had been entrusted to her keeping on the previous day,
upon which she again indulged in a torrent of abuse, swore they were
a couple of thieves, and that Mr. Jorrocks owed her far more than the
amount for board and lodging. This made the Colonel stare, for on the
supposition that he was a visitor, he had been firing away his money in
all directions, playing at everything she proposed, buying her bonnets,
Perigord pies, hiring remises, and committing every species of
extravagance, and now to be charged for what he thought was pure
friendship, disgusted him beyond expression.

The Countess speedily summoned the porter, the man of letters of the
establishment, and with his aid drew Mr. Jorrocks out a bill, which he
described as "reaching down each side of his body and round his waist,"
commencing with 2 francs for savon, and then proceeding in the daily
routine of cafe, 1 franc; dejeuner a la fourchette, 5 francs; diner
avec vin, 10 francs; tea, 1 franc; souper, 3 francs; bougies, 2 francs;
appartement, 3 francs; running him up a bill of 700 francs; and when Mr.
Stubbs remonstrated on the exorbitance of the charges, she replied, "It
sall be, sare, as small monnaie as sail be consistent avec my dignified
respectability, you to charge."

There seemed no help for the matter, so Mr. Stubbs paid the balance,
while Mr. Jorrocks, shocked at the duplicity of the Countess, the
impudence of Rosembom, and the emptiness of his own pockets, bolted away
without saying a word.

That very night the Malle-Poste bore them from the capital, with two
cold fowls, three-quarters of a yard of bread, and a bottle of porter,
for Mr. Jorrocks on the journey, and ere another sun went down, the
sandy suburbs of Calais saw them toiling towards her ramparts, and
rumbling over the drawbridges and under the portcullis, that guard the
entrance to her gloomy town. Calais! cold, cheerless, lifeless Calais!
Whose soul has ever warmed as it approached thy town? but how many
hearts have turned with sickening sorrow from the mirthless tinkling of
thy bells!

"We'll not stay here long I guess," said Mr. Jorrocks as the diligence
pulled up at