At the Baron's impetuous request the cigars were brought into the hall, and ladies and gentlemen all trooped out together.
"I cannot vait till I have seen Miss Gallosh dance ze Highland reel," he explained to her gratified mother; "she has promised me." "But you must dance too, Lord Tulliwuddle," said ravishing Miss Gallosh.
"You know you said you would." "A promise to a lady is a law," replied the Baron gallantly, adding in a lower tone, "especially to so fair a lady!" "It's a pity his lordship hadn't on his kilt," put in Mr.Gallosh genially.
"By ze Gad, I vill put him on! Hoch! Ve vill have some fon!" The Baron rushed from the hall, followed in a moment by his noble friend.

Bunker found him already wrapping many yards of tartan about his waist.
"But, my dear fellow, you must take off your trousers," he expostulated.
Despite his glee, the Baron answered with something of the Blitzenberg dignity-- "Ze bare leg I cannot show to-night--not to dance mit ze young ladies.
Ven I have practised, perhaps; but not now, Bonker." Accordingly the portraits of four centuries of Tulliwuddles beheld their representative appear in the very castle of Hechnahoul with his trouser-legs capering beneath an ill-hung petticoat of tartan.

And, to make matters worse in their canvas eyes, his own shameless laugh rang loudest in the mirth that greeted his entrance.
"Ze garb of Gaul!" he announced, shaking with hilarity.

"Gom, Bonker, dance mit me ze Highland fling!" The first night of Lord Tulliwuddle's visit to his ancestral halls is still remembered among his native hills.

The Count also, his mind now rapturously at ease, performed prodigies.