We entered my salon with a roar, and set Bedos to work at the punch
forthwith. Bedos, that Ganymede of a valet, had himself but just arrived,
and was unlocking the door as we entered. We soon blew up a glorious
fire, and our spirits brightened in proportion. Monsieur Jocko sate on
Vincent's knee--Ne monstrum, as he classically termed it. One of our
compotatores was playing with it. Jocko grew suddenly in earnest--a grin-
-a scratch and a bite, were the work of a moment.

"Ne quid nimis--now," said Vincent, gravely, instead of endeavouring to
soothe the afflicted party, who grew into a towering passion. Nothing but
Jocko's absolute disgrace could indeed have saved his life from the
vengeance of the sufferer.

"Where shall we banish him?" said Vincent.

"Oh," I replied, "put him out in that back passage; the outer door is
shut; he'll be quite safe;" and to the passage he was therefore
immediately consigned.

It was in this place, the reader will remember, that the hapless Dame du
Chateau was at that very instant in "durance vile." Bedos, who took the
condemned monkey, opened the door, thrust Jocko in, and closed it again.
Meanwhile we resumed our merriment.

"Nunc est bibendum," said Vincent, as Bedos placed the punch on the
table. "Give us a toast, Dartmore."

Lord Dartmore was a young man, with tremendous spirits, which made up for
wit. He was just about to reply, when a loud shriek was heard from
Jocko's place of banishment: a sort of scramble ensued, and the next