ossa and all manner of bombs and Congreve
rockets."

"The story is differently told in Virgil," quoth Riccabocca, peeping
out of the window. "Nevertheless, the machine looks very large and
suspicious; unloose Pompey."

"Father," said Violante, colouring, "it is your friend, Lord L'Estrange;
I hear his voice."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite. How can I be mistaken?"

"Go, then, Giacomo; but take Pompey with thee,--and give the alarm if we
are deceived."

But Violante was right; and in a few moments Lord L'Estrange was seen
walking up the garden, and giving the arm to two ladies.

"Ah," said Riccabocca, composing his dressing-robe round him, "go, my
child, and summon Jemima. Man to man; but, for Heaven's sake, woman to
woman."

Harley had brought his mother and Helen, in compliment to the ladies of
his friend's household.

The proud countess knew that she was in the presence of Adversity, and
her salute to Riccabocca was only less respectful than that with which
she would have rendered homage to her sovereign. But Riccabocca, always
gallant to the sex that he pretended to despise, was not to be outdone
in ceremony; and the bow which replied to the courtesy would have
edified the rising generation, and delighted such surviving relics of
the old Court breeding as may linger yet amidst the gloomy pomp of the
Faubourg St. Germain. These dues paid to etiquette, the countess briefly
introduced Helen as Miss Digby, and seated herself near the exile. In
a few moments the two elder personages became quite at home with each
other; and, really, perhaps Riccabocca had never, since we have known
him, showed to such advantage as by the side of his polished, but
somewhat formal visitor. Both had lived so little with our modern,
ill-bred age! They took out their manners of a former race, with a
sort of pride in airing once more such fine lace and superb brocade.
Riccabocca gave truce to the shrewd but homely wisdom of his proverbs,
perhaps he remembered that Lord Chesterfield denounces proverbs as
vulgar; and gaunt though his figure, and far from elegant though his
dressing-robe, there was that about him which spoke undeniably of the
grand seigneur,--of one to whom a Marquis de Dangeau would have offered
a fauteuil by the side of the Rohans and Montmorencies.

Meanwhile Helen and Harley seated themselves a little apart, and were
both silent,--the first, from timidity; the second, from abstraction.
At length the door opened, and Ha