homage. He was still exquisitely polite—
indeed, courting was second nature to him; but
his politeness was the condescension of a
sovereign among his subjects—of the Marquis de
Carabas among his vassals.

Mr. Blunt had thrown over his attire of the
afternoon a long ample cloak of circular cut,
deeply faced with velvet, and made of the finest
broadcloth.  It was called a "Spanish" cloak;
and in Spanish I am afraid the eminent Mr.
Nugee, the tailor who had made it, was paid.
Blunt had long since passed into that state of
indebtedness when a man gets credit solely on
the strength of his already owing so much.

Close upon his heels, and carrying a slight
childish form wrapped up in a cloak, was Mr.
Blunt's friend.  Yes; he was his friend—his
guide and philosopher too, although to the world
the relation in which he stood towards the man
of fashion was not more exalted than that of a
valet de chambre.  Mr. Blunt's friend was hero
and valet in one, and looked each character
equally well.

In his way he was as exquisitely dressed as
his master.  It is difficult to make anything
remarkable out of a full suit of glossy black.
You must needs look, in general, either like a
waiter, or a doctor, or a schoolmaster, or an
undertaker.  The friend and valet of Francis
Blunt, Esq., did not approach any one of the
above-mentioned types of humanity.  Mr. Nugee
made the coats of the man as well as of the
master.  The valet's coat was perfection.  It
wasn't a body-coat, and it wasn't a swallow-tail
—nay, nor a frock, nor a surtout, nor a spenser,
nor a shooting-jacket.  It was a coat with which
no one could quarrel. It had the slightest
clerical appearance, just tinged with a shade of
the sporting cut.  There is little need to say
anything of the supplementary garments worn by Mr.
Blunt's friend.  That incomparable coat disarmed
all ulterior criticism, and would have compensated
for any short-comings in the remainder of the
attire.  Such short-comings, however, were non-
existent.  Everything came up to a high standard
of excellence.  A delicate appreciation of art was
shown in the thin brown gaiter with pearl
buttons, that showed itself between the termination
of the pantaloon and the foot of the varnished
boot.  A refined spirit of propriety was manifest
in the narrow shirt-collar, and the quietly folded
scarf of black ribbed silk, fastened with a
subdued cameo representing the profile of a Roman
emperor.  Even that diamond ring to which
Miss Bunnycastle had called attention, large
and evidently valuable as it was, had nothing
about it on which the imputation of obtrusiveness
or vainglory could be fixed.  It was worn
on the little finger of the left hand, and rarely
brought into play.

It is time to say a few words about the
individual for whom a skilful tailor and his own
delicacy of taste had done so much.  Nature
had been partially kind, but, with her usual
caprice, here and there hostile, to the individual.
He was of the middle size, and clean limbed, but
all the powers of the coat were needed—and
they nearly but not entirely succeeded—in
disguising the fact that he was so round-shouldered
as to be almost humpbacked.  Without the coat,
he would have been Quasimodo; with the coat,
he was only a gentleman who, unfortunately,
stooped a good deal.  His head was large, but
the collar of that invaluable coat was so cut as to
make his neck sit well on his torso.  His hair was
of the deepest raven black—blue in the reflexions
indeed—and, had it had its own way, would have
grown in wildly tufted luxuriance.  But from
nape to temples his locks had been shorn to
inexorable shortness; yet, close as the scissors had
gone, you could tell at a glance that a forest had
been there.

In the whole attitude of the man there was
repose, concealed strength, abnegation of
outward show.  Had he given his eyes and lips
full play, the expression of his countenance
would have been terrible.  But, with rare self-
denial, he kept his eyelids habitually drawn
down, and veiled his great, flashing, devouring
orbs with the yellow nimbus round each pupil.
In the same spirit of abstention from show, his
lips, naturally full and pulpy, were under
inflexible management, and were kept firmly set
together.  Not half the world knew what large,
regular, white teeth he had.  He sometimes
smiled, but he never bit, in public.  There was
one concealment he could not, or had not, cared
to make.  The very large, bushy black eyebrows
were untampered with, and notwithstanding
the laboured amenity of his physiognomy,
gave him a somewhat forbidding look.  Add to
this that his complexion was dark, but so far
removed from sanguineous hues as to be well-
nigh sallow, and that on each cheek he wore a
short closely-cropped triangular whisker strongly
resembling a mutton-cutlet, and you have him
complete.

This individual was Monsieur Constant, valet
de chambre and confidential factotum to Francis
Blunt, Esq., and speaking English fluently and
idiomatically.  He knew all that his master did;
and there were a great many things within his,
the servant's ken, of which the master had
not the slightest idea.  Monsieur Constant said
that he was five-and-thirty years of age, bien
sonnés, which means that he might have been
between five-and-thirty and forty; and there
was no reason for disbelieving his statement.
Monsieur Constant came from Switzerland—
from one of the cantons bordering upon Italy,
I should opine, to judge from his swarthy
complexion.  I believe his Christian name was Jean
Baptiste.  Of his foreign antecedents he was
reticent. His English antecedents could be known to
all who were at the pains to inquire.  They were
enrolled in a long catalogue of distinguished
service with the British aristocracy.  His
character, or rather his characters, were stainless.
He had been the Marchioness of CÅ“urdisart's
courier.  He had valeted the Duke of
Pamposter, and attended on his son and heir, the
young Marquis of Truffleton, at Oxford, and
throughout the grand tour.  He had been for
a short time groom of the chambers to Lord