The officers of her household were Count Punter,
a Hanoverian, the Cavaliere Spada, Captain Blackball of a mysterious
English regiment, which might be any one of the hundred and twenty in the
Army List, and other noblemen and gentlemen, Greeks, Russians, and
Spaniards. Mr. and Mrs. Jones (of England), who had made the princess's
acquaintance at Bagneres (where her lord still remained in the gout) and
perseveringly followed her all the way to Baden, were dazzled by the
splendour of the company in which they found themselves. Miss Jones wrote
such letters to her dearest friend Miss Thompson, Cambridge Square,
London, as caused that young person to crever with envy. Bob Jones, who
had grown a pair of mustachios since he left home, began to think
slightingly of poor little Fanny Thompson, now he had got into "the best
Continental society." Might not he quarter a countess's coat on his
brougham along with the Jones arms, or, more slap-up still, have the two
shields painted on the panels with the coronet over? "Do you know the
princess calls herself the Queen of Scots, and she calls me Julian
Avenel?" says Jones delighted, to Clive, who wrote me about the
transmogrification of our schoolfellow, an attorney's son, whom I
recollected a snivelling little boy at Grey Friars.
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