erybody!" Then bestowing ourselves in a hansom cab,
which had probably just deposited some other capitalist in the City, we
made for the West End of the town, where Mr. Clive had some important
business to transact with his tailors. He discharged his outstanding
little account with easy liberality, blushing as he pulled out of his
pocket a new chequebook, page 1 of which he bestowed on the delighted
artist. From Mr. B.'s shop to Mr. Truefitt's, is but a step. Our young
friend was induced to enter the hairdresser's, and leave behind him a
great portion of the flowing locks and the yellow beard, which he had
brought with him from Rome. With his mustachios he could not be
induced to part; painters and cavalry officers having a right to those
decorations. And why should not this young fellow wear smart clothes,
and a smart moustache, and look handsome, and take his pleasure, and
bask in his sun when it shone? Time enough for flannel and a fire when
the winter comes; and for grey hair and cork-soled boots in the natural
decline of years.

Then we went to pay a visit at a hotel in Jermyn Street to our friend
Florac who was now magnificently lodged there. A powdered giant lolling
in the hall, his buttons emblazoned with prodigious coronets, took our
cards up to the Prince. As the door of an apartment on the first floor
opened, we heard a cry as of joy; and that nobleman in a magnificent
Persian dressing-gown, rushing from the room, plunged down the stairs,
and began kissing Clive, to the respectful astonishment of the Titan in
livery.

"Come that I present you, my friends," our good little Frenchman
exclaimed "to Madame la--to my wife!" We entered the drawing-room; a
demure little little lady, of near sixty years of age, was seated there,
and we were presented in form to Madame Princesse de Moncontour, nee
Higg, of Manchester. She made us a stiff little curtsey, but looked not
ill-natured; indeed, few women could look at Clive Newcome's gallant
figure and brave smiling countenance and keep a frown on their own very
long.

"I have 'eard of you from somebodys else besides the Prince," said the
lady, with rather a blush "Your uncle has spoke to me hoften about you,
Mr. Clive, and about your good father."

"C'est son Directeur," whispers Florac to me. I wondered which of the
firm of Newcome had taken that office upon him.

"Now you are come to England," the lady continued (whose Lancashire
pronunciation being once indicated,