“Well, indeed, sir, it's more than I can tell you. There 'a people here not a bit correcter than herself that won't meet her.” “Meet whom?” “Madame, sir,--Madame Cleremont.” “Don't dare to say another word,” cried I, passionately. “If you utter a syllable of disrespect to that name, I 'll fling you out of the window.” “Don't be afraid, Master Digby, I know my station, and I never forget it, sir. I was only telling you what you asked me, not a word more. The swells sent back your father's cards, and there's more than three hundred of them returned.” “And where's papa now?' * “In bed, sir. He told his valet he was n't to be disturbed, except the house took fire.” “Is Madame Cleremont below?” “No, sir; she's very ill. The doctor has been with her, and he's coming again to-night.” “And are these people--this rabble that you talk of--received as my papa's guests?” “Only in a sort of a way, sir,” said he, smiling. “You see that when Mr. Cleremont perceived that there was nothing but excuses and apologies pouring in, he told me to close the house, and that we 'd let all the bourgeois people into the grounds, and give them a jolly supper and plenty of champagne; and he sent word to a many of the young officers to come up and have a lark; and certainly, as the supper was there, they might as well eat it. The only puzzle is now, won't there be too many, for he sent round to all Sir Roger's tradespeople,--all at least that has good-looking daughters,--and they're pourin' in by tens and fifteens, and right well dressed and well got up too.” “And what will papa say to all this to-morrow?” “Don't you know, sir, that Sir Roger seldom looks back,” said he, with a cunning look; “he'll not be disturbed to-night, for the house is shut up, and the bands are playing, one at the lake, the other at the end of the long walk, and the suppers will be served here and there, where they can cheer and drink toasts without annoying any one.” “It's a downright infamy!” cried I. “It ain't the correct thing, sure enough, sir, there's none of us could say that, but it will be rare fun; and, as Captain Hotham said, 'the women are a precious sight better looking than the countesses.'” “Where is Mr. Eccles?” “I saw him waltzing, sir, or maybe it was the polka, with Madame Robineau just as I was coming up to you.” “I'll go down and tell Mr. Cleremont to dismiss his friends,” cried I, boiling over with anger. “Papa meant this _fête_ to celebrate my birthday. I 'll not accept such rabble congratulations. If Mr. Cleremont must have an orgie, let him seek for another place to give it in.” “Don't go, master, don't, I entreat you,” cried he, imploringly. “You 'll only make a row, sir, and bring down Sir Roger, and then who's to say what will happen? He 'll have a dozen duels on his hands in half as many minutes. The officers won't stand being called to account, and Sir Roger is not the man to be sweet-tempered with them.”