"Upon my life, father," said this worthy man, "I care for nothing. You have been talking for an hour about the Regent's death, and the Duchess of Phalaris, and sly old Fleury, and what not; and I care just as much as if you told me that one of my bauers at Galgenstein had killed a pig; or as if my lacquey, La Rose yonder, had made love to my mistress.""He does!" said the reverend gentleman.
"Ah, Monsieur l'Abbe!" said La Rose, who was arranging his master's enormous Court periwig, "you are, helas! wrong. Monsieur le Comte will not be angry at my saying that I wish the accusation were true."The Count did not take the slightest notice of La Rose's wit, but continued his own complaints.
"I tell you, Abbe, I care for nothing. I lost a thousand guineas t'other night at basset; I wish to my heart I could have been vexed about it. Egad! I remember the day when to lose a hundred made me half mad for a month. Well, next day I had my revenge at dice, and threw thirteen mains. There was some delay; a call for fresh bones, I think; and would you believe it?-- I fell asleep with the box in my hand!""A desperate case, indeed," said the Abbe.
"If it had not been for Krahwinkel, I should have been a dead man, that's positive. That pinking him saved me.""I make no doubt of it," said the Abbe. "Had your Excellency not run him through, he, without a doubt, would have done the same for you.""Psha! you mistake my words, Monsieur l'Abbe" (yawning). "I mean-- what cursed chocolate!--that I was dying for want of excitement. Not that I cared for dying; no, d---- me if I do!""WHEN you do, your Excellency means," said the Abbe, a fat grey- haired Irishman, from the Irlandois College at Paris.
His Excellency did not laugh, nor understand jokes of any kind; he was of an undeviating stupidity, and only replied, "Sir, I mean what I say. I don't care for living: no, nor for dying either; but I can speak as well as another, and I'll thank you not to be correcting my phrases as if I were one of your cursed schoolboys, and not a gentleman of fortune and blood."Herewith the Count, who had uttered four sentences about himself (he never spoke of anything else), sunk back on his pillows again, quite exhausted by his eloquence. The Abbe, who had a seat and a table by the bedside, resumed the labours which had brought him into the room in the morning, and busied himself with papers, which occasionally he handed over to his superior for approval.
Presently Monsieur la Rose appeared.
"Here is a person with clothes from Mr. Beinkleider's. Will yourExcellency see him, or shall I bid him leave the clothes?"The Count was very much fatigued by this time; he had signed three papers, and read the first half-a-dozen lines of a pair of them.
"Bid the fellow come in, La Rose; and, hark ye, give me my wig: one must show one's self to be a gentleman before these scoundrels." And he therefore mounted a large chestnut-coloured, orange-scented pyramid of horsehair, which was to awe the new-comer.
He was a lad of about seventeen, in a smart waistcoat and a blue riband: our friend Tom Billings, indeed. He carried under his arm the Count's destined breeches. He did not seem in the least awed, however, by his Excellency's appearance, but looked at him with a great degree of curiosity and boldness. In the same manner he surveyed the chaplain, and then nodded to him with a kind look of recognition.
"Where have I seen the lad?" said the father. "Oh, I have it! My good friend, you were at the hanging yesterday, I think?"Mr. Billings gave a very significant nod with his head. "I never miss," said he.
"What a young Turk! And pray, sir, do you go for pleasure, or for business?""Business! what do you mean by business?"
"Oh, I did not know whether you might be brought up to the trade, or your relations be undergoing the operation.""My relations," said Mr. Billings, proudly, and staring the Count full in the face, "was not made for no such thing. I'm a tailor now, but I'm a gentleman's son: as good a man, ay, as his lordship there: for YOU a'n't his lordship--you're the Popish priest you are; and we were very near giving you a touch of a few Protestant stones, master."The Count began to be a little amused: he was pleased to 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!"