“Come here, Fellow,” said my Lord; he stood up in the Light of the Fire and his slight figure in the Limp Gown, the Night Cap pulled over his tumbled Hair, his pallid face with the feverish eyes was in a Contrast with the Men of Lesser Quality who were Splendid enough in cut Velvet and Lace and Tassels. Christopher Vratz lifted his Face flushed with Fairness after the fashion of the Swedelander and looked at the Polander. “You are my Servant now, Borosky,” said he. “Yes,” added my Lord. “I have given you to Vratz,” and he Shivered a little closer to the Fire and Held out his hand to the Glow of it, Regarding the three with Eyes so unnaturally blazing that they conveyed a thrill of terror. “Oh, dear sir,” said the Polander, “this is a Greater Joy than I looked for in coming to _England_.” He bent with more Grace than might easily have been expected from his Bulk and kissed the Count’s thin hand in a humble Gratitude. “This is a man,” said Captain Vratz, “who will do Anything for me–out of the Great Affection he hath for my Person—” “Need you set him on a losing Game?” asked the young German, glancing at the pleased, simple face of the Polander. “There is many an _Italian_ walking about the Piazza of Covent Garden who would do the Trick for the Matter of Fifty Pounds.” At that my Lord looked up Sharply and seemed Mightily out of Countenance and Captain Vratz answered: “That is in the Count’s hands. I am his Man.” Now the Polander made nothing of all this but only Wished to be away with his Master; and they made so little account of him that they never abated their Talk but treated him like a Dog that had just been bought by a new Master, and so he took it himself and truly his Attention was absorbed by a Broadsword he beheld on a Table near, and that he Surmised was that ordered by Mr. Hanson at the Cutler’s at _Charing Cross_ and a fine Weapon too, from the Look. Near this Weapon was a Black Peruke, and the Polander wondered why a Gentleman of so fair a face as my Lord should have so Black a Wig and he surmised that it belonged to Mr. Hanson. My Lord walked about the bare floor and seemed in some contained Passion of Excitement. “It will be a Stain on my Blood,” said he, “but one good action at the Wars or one Fight on the Counterscarp will wipe that away—” And he spoke like a Man exalted in his Courage and ready for a Tragic Turn. Presently the three–Vratz, Stern the _German_ lieutenant, and the Polander–went away, it being then late at Night and Cold. And before they went the Count gave the Polander the Sword that Mr. Hanson had bestowed Ten Shillings on, and the last that Fellow saw of my Lord was the sight of him in the glimmer of a dying Candle staring after the three of them with a Face very Young, very Ill, very Wild, beneath the tumbled Night Cap. The three of them went to the Captain’s Lodgings; he lay at the _Black Bull_ in _Holborn_, in an ill Part of the Town.