_Nokes [alone]._ And this is what they call a highly-civilized country! Talk of "a strong government" at home: what's the use of its being strong, if it can't make foreigners speak our language? What's the good of missionary enterprise, when here's a Christian man, within twelve hours of London, who can't get a shirt-button sewn on for want of the Parisian accent? I said "button, button, button," plain enough, I'm sure; and a button's a button all the world over. If it had not been for that excellent Susan, the English chambermaid, I should have perished in this place, of what the coroner's inquests call "want of the necessaries of life." All depends, as every one knows, on a man's shirt-button: if _that_ goes wrong, everything goes, and one's attire is a wreck. But I suppose after to-day my wife will see to that,--though she is a Montmorenci. Constance de Montmorenci, that's her name: she's descended (she says) from a Constable of France. It's a more English-seeming name than _gendarme_, and I like her for that; but I am afraid we shan't have much in common--except my property. She don't speak English very fluently: she called me "my dove" the other day, instead of "my duck," which is ridiculous. She is not twenty, and I am over sixty,--which is perhaps also ridiculous. Well, it's all Charles's fault, not mine. If he chooses to go and marry a beggar-girl without my consent, he must take the consequences,--if there are a dozen of them,--and support them how he can. "If you persist in this wicked and perverse resolve," said I, "_I'll_ marry also, before the year's out." And now I'm going to do it,--if I can only get this shirt-button sewn on. He shall not have a penny of what I have to leave behind me. The little Nokes-Montmorencis shall have it all. She's a most accomplished creature is Constance. Sings, they tell me,--for it's not in English, so I don't understand it,--divinely; plays ditto; draws ditto. Speaks every language (except English) with equal facility and--Thank goodness, here's Susan. _Enter SUSAN, with housemaid's broom._ _Susan._ What do you please to want, sir? _Nokes._ _You_, Susan; you, first of all, and then a shirt-button. I have not five minutes to spare. My bride is probably already at the Embassy, expressing her impatience in various continental tongues. _Vite_,--look sharp, Susan. [_Aside._] Admirable woman!--she carries buttons about with her. I wonder whether the Montmorenci will do that.--Take care!--don't run the needle into me! _Susan._ You must not talk, sir, or else I can't help it. Please to hold your head up a little higher. _Nokes._ I shall do that when I've married the Montmorenci. [_She pricks him._] Oh! oh!