When I discovered that this dear little Creature, who was as fair as her name and as good as gold, was my Countrywoman, I made bold to tell her that I was English too; whereupon she Laughed, and in her sweet manner expressed her wonder that I had come to be playing a Fury at the French Opera House. I chose to keep my Belongings private for the nonce; so the old Gentleman, treating me as an honest fellow of Low Degree, presented me with ten Livres, which I accepted, nothing loth, and the Theatre People even made a purse for me amounting to Fifty more. So that I got as rich as a Jew, and was much in favour with my Landlord. But, better than all, the Little Girl, as I was her Preserver, insisted that I should be her Protector too; and old Mr. Lovell being laid up very bad with the rheumatism, I was often privileged to attend her home after the Theatre, walking respectfully a couple of paces behind her, and grasping a stout Cudgel. Father and Daughter lived in the Impasse Mauvaise Langue, Rue des Moineaux, behind St. Rogue's Church; and often when I had got my precious charge home, she would press me to stop to supper, the which I took very humbly at a side table, and listened to the stories of old Mr. Lovell (who was very garrulous) about the Forty-five. "Bless his old heart," thought I; "I could tell him something about the Forty-five that would astonish him." 'Twas one night after leaving the Impasse Mauvaise Langue that, feeling both cold and dry, I turned into a Tavern that was open late, for a measure of Hot Spiced Wine, as a Night-cap. There was no one there, beyond the People of the House, save a man in a Drugget coat, a green velveteen Waistcoat, red plush Nethers, and a flapped Hat, all very Worn and Greasy. He was about my own age, and wore his own Hair; but the most remarkable thing about him was his Face. I never saw such a Red Face. 'Twas a hundred times more fiery than that of Bardolph in the Play. 'Twas more glowing than a Salamander's. 'Twas redder than Sir Robert Walpole's (the great Whig Minister who, in my youth, was called by the Common "Brandy-faced Bob!"). This man's Face was most terribly puffed and swollen, and the veins all injected with purplish Blood. The tips of his Ears were like two pendant Carbuncles. His little bloodshot Eyes seemed starting from their Sockets, while the Cheeks beneath puffed out like Pillows for his Orbits to rest upon. Not less worthy of remark was it that this Red-faced Man's Lips were of a tawny White. He was for ever scrabbling with his hands among his tufted Locks, and pressing them to his Temples, as though his Head pained him--which there was reason to believe it did.