soul in that business, took naturally to it when the Viscountess of
Castlewood returned to inhabit her father's house.

"I present to your ladyship your kinsman and little page of honor,
Master Henry Esmond," Mr. Holt said, bowing lowly, with a sort of
comical humility. "Make a pretty bow to my lady, Monsieur; and then
another little bow, not so low, to Madame Tusher--the fair priestess of
Castlewood."

"Where I have lived and hope to die, sir," says Madame Tusher, giving a
hard glance at the brat, and then at my lady.

Upon her the boy's whole attention was for a time directed. He could not
keep his great eyes off from her. Since the Empress of Ealing, he had
seen nothing so awful.

"Does my appearance please you, little page?" asked the lady.

"He would be very hard to please if it didn't," cried Madame Tusher.

"Have done, you silly Maria," said Lady Castlewood.

"Where I'm attached, I'm attached, Madame--and I'd die rather than not
say so."

"Je meurs ou je m'attache," Mr. Holt said with a polite grin. "The ivy
says so in the picture, and clings to the oak like a fond parasite as it
is."

"Parricide, sir!" cries Mrs. Tusher.