“Nothing of the kind, Scroope.” “A scratch, but not a wound, perhaps,” said Haggerstone, with a grin of malice. “I am ver happy please ver moosh,” said the Count, “for de sake of de order. I am republiquecain, but never forget I 'm de noble blood!” “Beautiful sentiment!” exclaimed Mrs. Ricketts, enthusiastically. “Martha, did you hear what the Count said? General, I hope you didn't lose it?” “I was alway for de cause of de people,” said the Count, throwing back his hair wildly, and seeming as if ready to do battle at a moment's warning. “For an anti-monarchist, he turns up the king wonderfully often at ecarte” said Haggerstone, in a low muttering, only overheard by Martha. “I don't think the demo-demo-demo” But before Purvis had finished his polysyllabic word, the company had time to make their farewell speeches and depart. Indeed, as the servant came to extinguish the lamps, he found the patient Purvis very red in the face, and with other signs of excitement, deeply seated in a chair, and as if struggling against an access of suffocation. What the profound sentiment which he desired to enunciate might therefore be, is lost to history, and this true narrative is unable to record. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VISCOUNT'S VISION. WHEN Lord Norwood arrived at the Mazzarini Palace, he was surprised not to find the usual half-dozen carriages of the habitues drawn up in the courtyard, and still more so to learn that her Ladyship did not receive that evening. He ascended to George Onslow's apartment, and discovered that he had dined with Prince Midchekoff, and not yet returned. Not knowing how to spend the hours, so much earlier than those of his usually retiring to rest, he lighted a cigar, and threw himself on a sofa before the fire. The reveries of men who live much in the world are seldom very agreeable. The work of self-examination comes with a double penalty when it is rarely exercised, and the heavy arrears of time are formidable scores to confront. Lord Norwood was no exception to this theory. Not that he was one to waste time or temper in self-reproaches. The bygone was essentially with him the “irrevocable.” It might, it is true, occasionally suggest a hint for the future, but it never originated a sorrow for the past. His philosophy was a very brief code, and comprised itself in this, “that he did n't think well of himself, but thought worse of all others.” All that he had seen of life was duplicity, falsehood, selfishness, and treachery. In different stations these characteristics took different forms; and what was artfully cloaked in courtesy by the lord was displayed in all its naked deformity by the plebeian.