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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Snuff?" laughed His Royal Highness, who seemed vastly amused. "Yes, your Royal Highness... snuff... Monsieur Chauvelin here had if I may be allowed to say so so vitiated a taste in snuff that he prefers it with an admixture of pepper... Is that not so, Monsieur... er... Chaubertin?" "Chauvelin, Sir Percy," remarked the ex-ambassador drily.
"Nay, Monsieur Chaubertin," said Sir Percy gaily, "but this is marvellous... demmed marvellous... do you hear that, m'dear?... Gadzooks! but 'tis the best joke I have heard this past twelve-months.... Monsieur here thinks... Lud! but I shall die of laughing.... Monsieur here thinks... that 'twas that demmed letter which went to Paris... and that an English gentleman lay scuffling on the floor and allowed a letter to be filched from him..."
"Nay, Monsieur... er... Chaubertin," quoth Blakeney lightly, "I have no doubt that you and your colleagues are past masters in the graceful art of mud-throwing.... But pardon me... er.... I was interrupting you.... Continue, Monsieur... continue, I pray. 'Pon my honour, the matter is vastly diverting."
"La!" said Sir Percy, with a good-humoured grin, "it did that quite, didn't it er M. er Chaubertin?" "Pardon me Chauvelin." "I beg pardon a thousand times. Yes Chauvelin of course. . . . Er . . . I never could cotton to foreign names. . . ."
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