splay his well-made figure
and limbs to great advantage; but he looked anxiously about, and his
first inquiry on coming on the scene in attendance upon the little boy
had been--

'The top of the morning to ye, mother! And where is Victorine?'

'Arrah, and what would ye want with Victorine?' demanded the _bonne_. 'Is
not the old mother enough for one while, to feast her eyes on her an'
Lanty Callaghan, now he has shed the _marmiton's_ slough, and come out in
old Ireland's colours, like a butterfly from a palmer? La Jeunesse,
instead of Laurent here, and Laurent there.'

La Pierre and La Jeunesse were the stereotyped names of all pairs of
lackeys in French noble houses, and the title was a mark of promotion;
but Lanty winced and said, 'Have done with that, mother. You know that
never the pot nor the kettle has blacked my fingers since Master Phelim
went to the good fathers' school with me to carry his books and insinse
him with the larning. 'Tis all one, as his own body-servant that I have
been, as was fitting for his own foster-brother, till now, when not one
of the servants, barring myself and Maitre Hebert, the steward, will
follow Madame la Comtesse beyond the four walls of Paris. "Will you
desert us too, Laurent?" says the lady. "And is it me you mane, Madame,"
says I, "Sorrah a Callaghan ever deserted a Burke!" "Then," says she,
"if you will go with us to Sweden, you shall have two lackey's suits, and
a couple of _louis d'or_ to cross your pocket with by the year, forbye
the fee and bounty of all the visitors to M. le Comte." "Is it M. l'Abbe
goes with Madame?" says I. "And why not," says she. "Then," says I,
"'tis myself that is mightily obliged to your ladyship, and am ready to
put on her colours and do all in reason in her service, so as I am free
to attend to Master Phelim, that is M. l'Abbe, whenever he needs me, that
am in duty bound as his own foster-brother." "Ah, Laurent," says she,
"'tis you that are the faithful domestic. We shall all stand in need of
such good offices as we can do to one another, for we shall have a long
and troublesome, if not dangerous journey, both before and after we have
met M. le Comte."'

Estelle here nodded her head with a certain satisfaction, while the nurse
replied--

'And what other answer could the son of your father make--Heavens be his
bed--that was shot through the head by the masther's side in the weary
wars in Spain? and whom could ye be bound to serve