pretensions than I had given it credit for, or it employed an
unlearned and imaginative stationer. I scribbled a line of
acceptance and went to dress.

The hour of eight found me knocking at the Count's door. The
grim serving-man admitted me to the pleasant chamber which should
have been mine own. A dozen wax candles burned in sconces, and
on the table among fruits and the remains of supper stood a
handsome candelabra of silver. A small fire of logs had been lit
on the hearth, and before it in an armchair sat a strange figure
of a man. He seemed not so much old as aged. I should have put
him at sixty, but the marks he bore were clearly less those of
time than of life. There sprawled before me the relics of noble
looks. The fleshy nose, the pendulous cheek, the drooping mouth,
had once been cast in looks of manly beauty. Heavy eyebrows
above and heavy bags beneath spoiled the effect of a choleric
blue eye, which age had not dimmed. The man was gross and yet
haggard; it was not the padding of good living which clothed his
bones, but a heaviness as of some dropsical malady. I could
picture him in health a gaunt loose-limbed being, high-featured
and swift and eager. He was dressed wholly in black velvet, with
fresh ruffles and wristbands, and he wore heeled shoes with
antique silver buckles. It was a figure of an older age which
rose to greet me, in one hand a snuff-box and a purple
handkerchief, and in the other a book with finger marking place.
He made me a great bow as Madame uttered my name, and held out a
hand with a kindly smile.

"Mr. Hervey-Townshend," he said, "we will speak English, if you
please. I am fain to hear it again, for 'tis a tongue I love. I