“He tells me,” said the lady, still louder, “that the Onslows have separated. Not an open, formal separation, but that they occupy distinct apartments, and hold no intercourse whatever.” “Sir Stafford lives on the rez de chaussee” said Haggerstone, who, having already told the story seven times the same morning, was quite perfect in the recital, “Sir Stafford lives on the rez de chaussee, with a small door into the garden. My Lady retains the entire first floor and the grand conservatory. George has a small garcon apartment off the terrace.” “Ho! very distressing!” sighed Mrs. Ricketts, whose woe-worn looks seemed to imply that she had never heard of a similar incident before; “and how unlike us, Arthur!” added she, with a smile of beaming affection. “He has ever been what you see him, since the day he stole my young, unsuspecting heart.” The Colonel looked over at the object thus designated, and, by the grin of malice on his features, appeared to infer that the compliment was but a sorry one, after all. “'John Anderson my Jo, John,'” muttered he, half aloud. “'We've climbed the hill toge-ge-ge-ther,'” chimed in Purvis, with a cackle. “Gather what, sir? Blackberries, was it?” cried Haggerstone. “Don't quote that low-lived creature,” said Mrs. Ricketts; “a poet only conversant with peasants and their habits. Let us talk of our own order. What of these poor Onslows?” “Sir Stafford dines at two, madam. A cutlet, a vegetable, and a cherry tart; two glasses of Gordon's sherry, and a cup of coffee.” “Without milk. I had it from Proctor,” broke in Purvis, who was bursting with jealousy at the accuracy of the other's narrative. “You mean without sugar, sir,” snapped Haggerstone. “Nobody does take milk-coffee after dinner.” “I always do,” rejoined Purvis, “when I can't get mara-mara-mara--” “I hope you can get maraschino down easier than you pronounce it, sir.” “Be quiet, Scroope,” said his sister; “you always interrupt.” “He do make de devil of misverstandness wit his whatye-call-'em,” added the Pole, contemptuously. And poor Purvis, rebuked on every side, was obliged to fall back beside Martha and her embroidery. “My Lady,” resumed Haggerstone, “is served at eleven o'clock. The moment Granzini's solo is over in the ballet, an express is sent off to order dinner. The table is far more costly than Midchekoff's.” “I do believe well,” said the Count, who always, for nationality's sake, deemed it proper to abuse the Russian. “De Midchekoff cook tell me he have but ten paoli how you say par tete by the tete for his dinner; dat to include everyting, from the caviar to de sheeze.” “That was not the style at the Pavilion formerly,” roared out Haggerstone, repeating the remark in Foglass's ear. And the ex-consul smiled blandly towards Mrs. Ricketts, and said he 'd take anything to England for her “with pleasure.”