unced as an Ambassador; "if you do see de Count
Ojeffskoy, tell him I am living here, as well as a poor exile can, who
have lost palaces, and horses, and diamonds, and all de rest."

"Ah! the poor dear Count!" sighed Mrs. Ricketts, while Martha prolonged
the echo.

"You carry on the war tolerably well, notwithstanding," said
Haggerstone, who knew something of the other's resources in piquet and
ecarte.

"Carry on de war!" rejoined he, indignantly; "wid my fader, who work in
de mines; and my beautiful sisters, who walk naked about de streets of
Crakow!"

"What kind of climate have they in Crak-Crak-Crak--" A fit of coughing
finished a question which nobody thought of answering; and Purvis sat
down, abashed, in a corner.

"Arthur, my love," said Mrs. Ricketts, she was great at a diversion,
whenever such a tactic was wanted, "do you hear what Colonel Haggerstone
has been saying?"

"No, dearest," muttered the old General, as he worked away with rule and
compass.

"He tells me," said the lady, still louder, "that the Onslows have
separated. Not an open, formal separation, but that they occupy distinct
apartments, and hold no intercourse whatever."

"Sir Stafford lives on the rez de chaussee" said Haggerstone, who,
having already told the story seven times the same morning, was quite
perfect in the recital, "Sir Stafford lives on the rez de chaussee, with
a small door into the garden. My Lady retains the entire first floor
and the grand conservatory. George has a small garcon apartment off the
terrace."

"Ho! very distressing!" sighed Mrs. Ricketts, whose woe-worn looks
seemed to imply that she had never heard of a similar incident before;
"and how unlike us, Arthur!" added she, with a smile of beaming
affection. "He has ever been what you see him, since the day he stole my
young, unsuspecting heart."

The Colonel looked over at the object thus designated, and, by the grin
of malice on his features, appeared to infer that the compliment was but
a sorry one, after all.

"'John Anderson my Jo, John,'" muttered he, half aloud.

"'We've climbed the hill toge-ge-ge-ther,'" chimed in Purvis, with a
cackle.

"Gather what, sir? Blackberries, was it?" cried Haggerstone.

"Don't quote that low-lived creature," said Mrs. Ricketts; "a poet only
conversant with peasants and their habits. Let us talk of our own order.
What of these poor Onslows?"

"Sir Stafford dines at two, madam. A cutlet, a vegetable, and a cherry