Countess with delight,
"satan! black satan breeches--you shall von pair of black satan
breeches, like the Colonel."

"And the Colonel will pay for them, I presume?" said the Yorkshireman,
looking at Mr. Jorrocks.

"I carn't," said Mr. Jorrocks in an undertone; "I'm nearly cleaned out,
and shall be in Short's Gardens before I know where I am, unless I hold
better cards this evening than I've done yet. Somehow or other, these
French are rather too sharp for me, and I've been down upon my luck ever
since I came.--Lose every night, in fact, and then they are so werry
anxious for me to have my rewenge, as they call it, that they make
parties expressly for me every evening; but, instead of getting my
rewenge, I only lose more and more money.--They seem to me always to
turn up the king whenever they want him.--To-night we are going to a
Countess's of werry great consequence, and, as you know ecarte well,
I'll back your play, and, perhaps, we may do something between us."

This being all arranged, Mr. Stubbs took his departure, and Mr. Jorrocks
having girded on his sword, and the Countess having made her morning
toilette, they proceed to their daily promenade in the Tuileries
Gardens.

A little before nine that evening, the Yorkshireman again found himself
toiling up the dirty staircase, and on reaching the third landing was
received by Agamemnon in a roomy uniform of a chasseur--dark green and
tarnished gold, with a cocked-hat and black feather, and a couteau de
chasse, slung by a shining patent-leather belt over his shoulder. The
opening of the inner door displayed the worthy Colonel sitting at his
ease, with his toes on each side of the stove (for the evenings had
begun to get cool), munching the last bit of crust of the fifth Perigord
pie that the Countess had got him to buy.--He was extremely smart;
thin black gauze-silk stockings, black satin breeches; well-washed,
well-starched white waistcoat with a rolling collar, showing an
amplitude of frill, a blue coat with yellow buttons and a velvet collar,
while his pumps shone as bright as polished steel.

The Countess presently sidled into the room, all smirks and smiles as
dressy ladies generally are when well "got up." Rouge and the milliner
had effectually reduced her age from five and forty down to five and
twenty. She wore a dress of the palest pink satin, with lilies of the
valley in her hair, and an exquisitely wrought gold armlet, with a most
Lilliputian watch in