te appetite; and finding Mr.
Stubbs more complaisant than he had been in the diligence, she concluded
by proposing that he should accompany the Colonel and herself to a
_soiree-dansante_ that evening at a friend of hers, another Countess, in
the "Rue des Bons-Enfants."

Being disengaged as usual, he at once assented, on condition that the
Countess would effect a reconciliation between Mr. Jorrocks and himself,
for which purpose she at once repaired to his room, and presently
reappeared arm-in-arm with our late outrageously indignant hero. The
Colonel had been occupying his time at the toilette, and was _en grand
costume_--finely cleaned leathers, jack-boots and brass spurs, with a
spick and span new blue military frock-coat, hooking and eyeing up to
the chin, and all covered with braid, frogs, tags, and buttons.

"Dere be von beau garcon!" exclaimed the Countess, turning him round
after having led him into the middle of the room--"dat habit does fit
you like vax." "Yes," replied Mr. Jorrocks, raising his arms as though
he were going to take flight, "but it is rather tight--partiklarly round
the waist--shouldn't like to dine in it. What do you think of it?"
turning round and addressing the Yorkshireman as if nothing had
happened--"suppose you get one like it?" "Do," rejoined the Countess,
"and some of the other things--vot you call them, Colonel?"
"What--breeches?" "Yes, breeches--but the oder name--vot you call dem?"
"Oh, leathers?" replied Mr. Jorrocks. "No, no, another name still." "I
know no other. Pantaloons, perhaps, you mean?" "No, no, not pantaloons."
"Not pantaloons?--then I know of nothing else. You don't mean these
sacks of things, called trousers?" taking hold of the Yorkshireman's.
"No, no, not trousers." "Then really, my lady, I don't know any other
name." "Oh, yes, Colonel, you know the things I intend. Vot is it you
call Davil in Angleterre?" "Oh, we have lots of names for him--Old Nick,
for instance."--"Old Nick breeches," said the Countess thoughtfully;
"no, dat sall not be it--vot else?" "Old Harry?" replied Mr.
Jorrocks.--"Old Harry breeches," repeated the Countess in the hopes of
catching the name by the ear--"no, nor dat either, encore anoder name,
Colonel." "Old Scratch, then?" "Old Scratch breeches," re-echoed the
Countess--"no, dat shall not do."--"Beelzebub?" rejoined Mr. Jorrocks.
"Beelzebub breeches," repeated the Countess--"nor dat." "Satan, then?"
said Mr. Jorrocks. "Oh oui!" responded the