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Updated: May 16, 2025
"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."
Before they had exchanged six sentences the young man had entirely succumbed to Mr Bunker’s address, aided possibly by the young man’s supper. “Permit me to introduce my friend the Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg, a nobleman strange as yet to England, but renowned throughout his native land alike for his talents and his lofty position,” said Mr Bunker.
“What do you want?” asked the florid gentleman, sternly. “Have I ze pleasure of addressing Sir Richard Brierley?” inquired the Baron, raising his hat and bowing profoundly. “You have.” “Zen I must tell you zat I am ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg.” “Gom, gom, my man!” interposed Mr Bunker. “I know you. Zis man, Sir Richard, has before annoyed me.
The Count took care to see that the mountain juice was well diluted. His friend had already found Scottish hospitality difficult to enjoy in moderation. "Baron, you gave us a marvellously lifelike representation of a Jacobite chieftain!" The Baron laughed a trifle vacantly. "Ach, it is easy for me. Himmel, a Blitzenberg should know how! Vollytoddle Toddyvolly whatsh my name, Bonker?"
"Never lie for lying's sake, Blitzenberg. Besides, how do you propose to forge a Chinese post-mark?" The Baron had laid the foundations of his Russian trip on a sound basis by requesting a friend of his in that country to post to the Baroness the bi-weekly budgets of Muscovite gossip which he intended to compose at Hechnahoul.
For the last year or two the name of Rudolph von Blitzenberg had appeared in the members' list of that most exclusive of institutions, the Regent's Club, Pall Mall; and it was thither he drove on this fine afternoon of July.
While his late worshippers were trampling his memory in the mire, the Baron von Blitzenberg, deserted and dejected, his face still buried in his hands, endured the slow passage of the doleful afternoon.
I am ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg!" "Another darned lie!" commented Ri. Mr. Maddison laughed sardonically; while Eleanor, with flashing eyes, now joined in the attack upon the hapless nobleman. "You wretched creature! Isn't it enough to have shammed to be one peer without shamming to be another?" "Bot I am! Ja, I swear to you! Can you not see zat I am noble?"
During the horrid period of suspense that followed her visit to Sir Justin, the Baroness von Blitzenberg naturally enough felt disinclined to go much into society, and in fact rarely went out at all during the Baron's absence, except to the houses of one or two of her mother's particular friends. Even then she felt much more inclined to stay at home. "Need we go to Mrs.
“Ze Baron Rudolph von Blitzenberg,” that nobleman replied. “Yours, sare—may I dare?” “Francis Bunker, at your service, Baron.” “You are noble?” queried the Baron a little anxiously, for his prejudices on this point were strong. “According to your standard I believe I may say so.
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