"I suppose, my lord," cried Jenkins, pocketing the money with a
smirk, and bowing with the things in his hands, "we are to have the
honor of seeing your lordship again, as you leave your portmanteau
behind you?"
Thaddeus hesitated a few seconds, then again moving towards the door,
said, "I will send for it."
"By what name, my lord?"
"The Count Sobieski."
Jenkins immediately set down the tea-board, and hurrying after
Thaddeus along the passage, and through the coffee-room, darted
before him, and opening the door into the lobby for him to go out,
exclaimed, loud enough for everybody to hear, "Depend upon it, Count
Sobieski, I will take care of your lordship's baggage."
Thaddeus, rather displeased at his noisy officiousness, only bent his
head, and proceeded into the street.
The air was piercing cold; and on his looking around, he perceived by
the disposition of the square in which he was that it must be a
market-place. The booths and stands were covered with snow, whilst
parts of the pavement were rendered nearly impassable by heaps of
black ice, which the market people of the preceding day had shoveled
up out of their way. He recollected it was now Sunday, and
consequently the improbability of finding any cheaper lodgings on
that day. [Footnote: Those who remember the terrible winter of 1794,
will not call this description exaggerated.
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