The last words were scarcely uttered, when a servant announced the Count de Favancourt. There is something, to a young person at least--I fancy I should not mind it now--so overwhelming on the sudden appearance of any one on whom the conversation has taken a turn of severity, that I arose confused and uneasy--I believe I blushed; at all events, I perceived that Lady Blanche remarked my discomfiture, and her eyes glanced on me with an expression I never observed before. As for the Count, he advanced and made his deep reverence without ever noticing me, nor, even while taking his seat, once shewed any consciousness of my presence. Burning with indignation that I could scarce repress, I turned towards a table, and affected to occupy myself tossing over the prints and drawings that lay about--my maddened thoughts rendered still more insufferable from fancying that Lady Blanche and the Count seemed on far better and more intimate footing than I had ever known them before. Some other visitors being announced, I took the occasion to retire unobserved, and had just reached the landing of the stairs when I heard a foot behind me. I turned--it was Favancourt. For the first time in my life, I perceived a smile upon his countenance--an expression, I own, that became it even less than his habitual stern scowl. “You have done me the honour, sir,” said he, “to make some observations on my manner, which, I regret to learn, has not acquired your favourable opinion. Now, I have a strong sense of the _inconvenance_ of any thing like a rupture of amicable relations between the embassy I have the honour to serve and that to which you belong. It is, then, exceedingly unpleasant for me to notice your remarks--it is impossible for me to let them pass unnoticed.” He made a pause at these words, and so long that I felt bound to speak, and, in a voice that passion had rendered slightly tremulous, said, “Am I to receive this, sir, in the light of a rebuke? because, as yet, I only perceive it conveys the expression of your own regret that you cannot demand an explanation I am most ready to afford you. “My demand is somewhat different, sir, but, I trust, will be as readily accorded. It is this: that you resign your position as _attaché_ to this embassy, and leave Vienna at once. There is no necessity that any unfavourable notice of this affair should follow you to another mission, or to England.” “Stop, sir, I beg of you: I cannot be answerable for my temper, if you persist to outrage it. While you may press me to acknowledge that, while half an hour ago I only deemed you a ‘Fat,’ I now account you an imbecile.’” “Enough!” said the Count, passing down the stairs before me.