“But _what_ is he?” continued Beaupeep, pertinaciously; “is he a noble political exile, or a _perruquier_ from the _Palais Royal_, who can’t meet his liabilities? does he gain a frugal living by imparting a knowledge of his native tongue in six lessons, at half-a-crown each? or----” “Hush! here he is,” interrupted Lord Alfred, as a smart rat-tat-tat at the house-door announced an arrival; “he has something to do with the funds, and the financial interests, and the Rothschilds, and all that mysterious pounds, shillings, and pence business, in regard to which I have, I am afraid, no clearly defined ideas.” “Except to spend ’em first, and make your governor shell-out afterwards, you lucky beggar you!” was the plainly audible aside, as the servant announced Monsieur Guillemard and Mr. D’Almayne. After the ceremony of introducing the volatile Jack to the new comers had been performed, that individual immediately attached himself, and devoted his conversation to Monsieur Guillemard, whom he persisted in addressing as “Mossoo le Comte,” and whom he seemed to imagine just caught in some very foreign country indeed, and ignorant of the simplest English manners and customs; a delusion to which that gentleman’s limited acquaintance with Bindley Murray’s, or, indeed, any other British grammar, lent some slight colouring. “I think I observed, Mossoo le Comte, that you came in a Hansom cab?” remarked Jack. “Yers, we promenaded in a ver handsome carb, a handsome hors also; you shall drive some much more handsome hors in your street than with us,” was the reply. “The native British cab is a great and noble product of the liberal institutions of this free and happy land,” returned Jack, oratorically; “if an Englishman chooses to walk, an enlightened legislature not only allows him to do so, but provides him with a granite pavement to walk upon; if he chooses to ride, the legislature has a cab awaiting his slightest wink--a mere contraction of the eyelid, Mossoo le Comte, obtains for the wearied Englishman a luxurious vehicle, a swift and steady horse, and a skilful driver, prepared to convey him one mile in any conceivable direction, for the trifling outlay of sixpence sterling.” “With the advantage of studying the _patois_ of Billingsgate in for the money, when the cabman returns thanks for his fare,” added D’Almayne. Jack Beaupeep favoured him with a glance of inquiry which, if it had been framed in words, would have run thus--“Are you a knave or a fool?” Apparently deciding in favour of the former hypothesis, he resumed--