_Dug._ No more! We have rid a swinging pace from Nemours, since two this morning! Petit, run to Rousseau's, and bespeak a dinner, at a Lewis d'or a head, to be ready by one. _Petit._ How many will there be of you, sir? _Dug._ Let me see--Mirabel one, Duretete two, myself three---- _Petit._ And I four. _Dug._ How now, sir? at your old travelling familiarity! When abroad, you had some freedom, for want of better company, but among my friends, at Paris, pray remember your distance--Begone, sir! [_Exit_ PETIT.] This fellow's wit was necessary abroad, but he's too cunning for a domestic; I must dispose of him some way else.--Who's here? Old Mirabel, and my sister!--my dearest sister! _Enter_ OLD MIRABEL _and_ ORIANA. _Oriana._ My Brother! Welcome! _Dug._ Monsieur Mirabel! I'm heartily glad to see you. _Old Mir._ Honest Mr. Dugard, by the blood of the Mirabels, I'm your most humble servant! _Dug._ Why, sir, you've cast your skin, sure; you're brisk and gay--lusty health about you--no sign of age, but your silver hairs. _Old Mir._ Silver hairs! Then they are quicksilver hairs, sir. Whilst I have golden pockets, let my hairs be silver, an' they will. Adsbud, sir, I can dance, and sing, and drink, and--no, I can't wench. But Mr. Dugard, no news of my son Bob in all your travels? _Dug._ Your son's come home, sir. _Old Mir._ Come home! Bob come home! By the blood of the Mirabels, Mr. Dugard, what say you? _Oriana._ Mr. Mirabel returned, sir? _Dug._ He's certainly come, and you may see him within this hour or two. _Old Mir._ Swear it, Mr. Dugard, presently swear it. _Dug._ Sir, he came to town with me this morning; I left him at the Banieurs, being a little disordered after riding, and I shall see him again presently. _Old Mir._ What! and he was ashamed to ask a blessing with his boots on! A nice dog! Well, and how fares the young rogue, ha? _Dug._ A fine gentleman, sir; he'll be his own messenger. _Old Mir._ A fine gentleman! But is the rogue like me still? _Dug._ Why, yes, sir; he's very like his mother, and as like you, as most modern sons are to their fathers. _Old Mir._ Why, sir, don't you think that I begat him? _Dug._ Why, yes, sir; you married his mother, and he inherits your estate. He's very like you, upon my word. _Oriana._ And pray, brother, what's become of his honest companion, Duretete? _Dug._ Who, the captain? The very same, he went abroad; he's the only Frenchman I ever knew, that could not change. Your son, Mr. Mirabel, is more obliged to nature for that fellow's composition, than for his own: for he's more happy in Duretete's folly than his own wit. In short, they are as inseparable as finger and thumb; but the first instance in the world, I believe, of opposition in friendship. _Old Mir._ Very well: will he be home, to dinner, think ye? _Dug._ Sir, he has ordered me to bespeak a dinner for us at Rousseau's, at a Lewis d'or a head.