"Ah, good, good! Very
good, dear baron! The sentiment is beau-ti-ful and could not be better
expressed--in English. You should have been born across the channel."
"I wish I had been born any place, not excepting hell, rather than in
England," I answered.
"True, true, what a hole it is," returned the count, regretfully. "The
Englishman is one pig."
He saw by the expression of my face that while I might abuse my own
countrymen, I did not relish hearing it from others, so with true French
tact he held up his hand to keep me from speaking till he could correct
himself.
"Pardon, baron, I forgot the 'r,' The Englishman's affectation of a
virtue he despises makes of him a prig--not a pig. Non, non! Mon Dieu!
Not a pig--a prig! Is it not so?"
"True, true, count," I returned, unable to restrain a laugh. "It is the
affectation of virtue that makes frank vice attractive by comparison."
"Ah, true, true, my dear baron. May I proceed with my errand?"
"Proceed, count."
"Monsieur le Comte Hamilton begs me to say that he was called away from
London early to-day on the king's business, but that he will return
in four weeks. When he returns he will do himself the honor to send
me again, asking you to name a friend, unless you prefer to apologize,
which no gentleman would do in a case of this sort. You said, I am told,
that Monsieur le Comte lied. If you admit that he did not lie, of course
you admit that you did.
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