"She is with that tailor lad who loves to see people hanged--your Excellency's son, I mean." And he was just about to warn the Count of a conspiracy evidently made against him, and that the son had brought, most likely, the mother to play her arts upon him--he was just about, I say, to show to the Count the folly and danger of renewing an old liaison with a woman such as he had described Mrs.Cat to be, when his Excellency, starting up, and interrupting his ghostly adviser at the very beginning of his sentence, said, "Egad, l'Abbe, you are right--it IS my son, and a mighty smart-looking creature with him.

Hey! Mr.What's-your-name--Tom, you rogue, don't you know your own father ?" And so saying, and cocking his beaver on one side, Monsieur de Galgenstein strutted jauntily after Mr.
Billings and the lady.
It was the first time that the Count had formally recognised his son.
"Tom, you rogue," stopped at this, and the Count came up.

He had a white velvet suit, covered over with stars and orders, a neat modest wig and bag, and peach-coloured silk-stockings with silver clasps.

The lady in the mask gave a start as his Excellency came forward.

"Law, mother, don't squeege so," said Tom.