Mendoza good-naturedly. "Leave me at peace, Count: don't you see it is
Friday, and almost sunset?" The Calmuck envoy retired cringing, and left
an odor of musk and candle-grease behind him.

An orange-man; an emissary from Lola Montes; a dealer in piping
bullfinches; and a Cardinal in disguise, with a proposal for a new loan
for the Pope, were heard by turns; and each, after a rapid colloquy in
his own language, was dismissed by Rafael.

"The queen must come back from Aranjuez, or that king must be disposed
of," Rafael exclaimed, as a yellow-faced amabassador from Spain, General
the Duke of Olla Podrida, left him. "Which shall it be, my Codlingsby?"
Codlingsby was about laughingly to answer--for indeed he was amazed to
find all the affairs of the world represented here, and Holywell Street
the centre of Europe--when three knocks of a peculiar nature were heard,
and Mendoza starting up, said, "Ha! there are only four men in the world
who know that signal." At once, and with a reverence quite distinct from
his former nonchalant manner, he advanced towards the new-comer.

He was an old man--an old man evidently, too, of the Hebrew race--the
light of his eyes was unfathomable--about his mouth there played an
inscrutable smile. He had a cotton umbrella, and old trousers, and old
boots, and an old wig, curling at the top like a rotten old pear.

He sat down, as if tired, in the first seat at hand, as Rafael made him
the lowest reverence.

"I am tired," says he; "I have come in fifteen hours. I am ill at
Neuilly," he added with a grin. "Get me some eau sucree, and tell me the
news, Prince de Mendoza. These bread rows; this unpopularity of Guizot;