It was illuminated by lamps with ground-glass shades which gave only a feeble light, as if out of consideration for the envoy’s weak sight.
After ten minutes’ expectation the clock struck ten; at the fifth stroke the door opened and Lord Wilmore appeared.
He was rather above the middle height, with thin reddish whiskers, light complexion and light hair, turning rather gray. He was dressed with all the English peculiarity, namely, in a blue coat, with gilt buttons and high collar, in the fashion of 1811, a white kerseymere waistcoat, and nankeen pantaloons, three inches too short, but which were prevented by straps from slipping up to the knee.
His first remark on entering was:
“You know, sir, I do not speak French?”
“I know you do not like to converse in our language,” replied the envoy.
“But you may use it,” replied Lord Wilmore; “I understand it.”
“And I,” replied the visitor, changing his idiom, “know enough of English to keep up the conversation. Do not put yourself to the slightest inconvenience.”
“Aw?” said Lord Wilmore, with that tone which is only known to natives of Great Britain.
The envoy presented his letter of introduction, which the latter read with English coolness, and having finished:
“I understand,” said he, “perfectly.”
Then began the questions, which were similar to those which had been addressed to the Abbé Busoni.