way under the extremity of provocation.
And the Prince turned slowly round, and surveyed the speaker and the
imposing form that loomed behind him.

"Tell them that I don't mean to keep any establishment here, Morlache."
And with this he strolled on, and passed into another room, while, like
as in a tableau, the others stood speechless with rage and indignation.

"He took you for the housekeeper, ma'am," said Haggerstone, standing up
with his back to the fire----"and a housekeeper out of place!"

"Martha, where's the General? Where is he, I say?" cried Mrs. Ricketts,
furious with passion.

"He went to bed at nine," whispered Martha. "He thought, by rising early
to-morrow, to finish the attack on Utrecht before night."

"You are as great a fool as himself. Scroope, come here. You must follow
that Russian. You must tell him the gross rudeness--"

"I'll be ha-ha-hanged if I do. I 've had enough of rows, for one winter
at least. I 'll not get into another sc-scrape, if I can help it."

"I 'm sorry, madam, that I cannot offer you my services," said
Haggerstone, "but I never meddle in a quarrel which can be made a
subject of ridicule. Mr. Foglass, I 'm certain, has no such scruple."

"The Prince appears a very agreeable man," said the ex-Consul, who, not
having the slightest notion of what was passing, merely followed his
instincts of praising the person of high rank.

"De shains of my enslaved country is on my hands. I 'm tied like one
galerien!" said Petrolaffsky, in a voice guttural with emotion.

"Your pardon once more, madam," said Morlache, slipping into the
chamber, and noiselessly approaching Mrs. Ricketts's chair. "The Prince
will take everything,----pictures, plate, china, and books. I hope
to-morrow, at noon, will not inconvenience you to leave this--"

"To-morrow! Impossible, sir. Perfectly impossible."

"In that case, madam, we must make some arrangement as to rent. His
Highness leaves all to me, and I will endeavor to meet your wishes
in every respect. Shall we say two thousand francs a month for the
present?" Without waiting for any reply, he turned to the Pole, and
whispered, "He 'll take you back again. He wants a chasseur, to send to
St. Petersburg. Come over to me in the morning, about ten. Mr. Foglass,"
cried he, in a loud voice, "when you write to London, will you mention
that the varnish on the Prince's drosky doesn't stand the cold of
Russia, and that they must try some other plan with the b