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. Little Castlewood and little Lord Churchill are to be sworn friends, and have boxed each other twice or thrice like brothers already. 'Twas that wicked young Mohun who, coming back from the provinces last year, where he had disinterred her, raved about her all the winter; said she was a pearl set before swine; and killed poor stupid Frank. The quarrel was all about his wife. I know 'twas all about her. Was there anything between her and Mohun, nephew? Tell me now--was there anything? About yourself, I do not ask you to answer questions." Mr. Esmond blushed up. "My lady's virtue is like that of a saint in heaven, madam," he cried out. "Eh!--mon neveu. Many saints get to heaven after having a deal to repent of. I believe you are like all the rest of the fools, and madly in love with her." "Indeed, I loved and honored her before all the world," Esmond answered. "I take no shame in that." "And she has shut her door on you--given the living to that horrid young cub, son of that horrid old bear, Tusher, and says she will never see you more. Monsieur mon neveu--we are all like that. When I was a young woman, I'm positive that a thousand duels were fought about me. And when poor Monsieur de Souchy drowned himself in the canal at Bruges because I danced with Count Springbock, I couldn't squeeze out a single tear, but danced till five o'clock the next morning. 'Twas the Count--no, 'twas my Lord Ormond that played the fiddles, and his Majesty did me the honor of dancing all night with me.--How you are grown! You have got the bel air. You are a black man. Our Esmonds are all black. The little prude's son is fair; so was his father--fair and stupid. You were an ugly little wretch when you came to Castlewood--you were all eyes, like a young crow. We intended you should be a priest. That awful Father Holt--how he used to frighten me when I was ill! I have a comfortable director now--the Abbe Douillette--a dear man. We make meagre on Fridays always. My cook is a devout pious man. You, of course, are of the right way of thinking. They say the Prince of Orange is very ill indeed." In this way the old Dowager rattled on remorselessly to Mr. Esmond, who was quite astounded with her present volubility, contrasting it with her former haughty behavior to him. But she had taken him into favor for the moment, and chose not only to like him, as far as her nature permitted, but to be afraid of him; and he found himself to be as famili
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