Pickwick Abroad: A Companion to the Pickwick Papers — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ra oh »" . + delight at the honor he conferred upon her by “ assisting” at her “petite reunion,” and Mademoiselle Anastasie blushed a more graceful welcome. The visitor was then duly introduced to a couple of fat old ladies with large turbans, three cross-looking old men, each wearing a red riband at his but- ton-hole, and four or five young girls, who stared at Mr. Tupman, and tittered amongst themselves, Mr. Tupman went through this ordeal as well as might be expected, and seated himself, when the ceremony was concluded, next to the beautiful Anastasie, whose loveliness was. not a little enhanced by the exceedingly low gown and short petticoats—atrocities very unusual in France —which she wore. Mr. Tupman gazed upon her charms with the eye of an un- mitigated old libertine; and soon renewed, in a sotto voce, the same tender conyersa- tion he had held in the morning, and for which he was admirably primed by the quantity of Champagne he had imbibed in the society of the systematic Mr. Hook Walker. While Mr. Tupman and Mademoiselle Anastasie de Volage were engaged in this little flirtation, which, with the politeness the French are so much renowned for, no one else appeared to notice, the black servant arranged three or four ecarte tables in becoming order, and the Marchioness, with amiable condescension, invited her guests to amuse themselves atcards. Two of the cross-looking gentlemen and the old ladies with the high turbans accordingly made up a couple of games, and the young ladies crowded round the tables to bet their five-franc pieces, which they did in a man- ner at once interesting and curious to a degree. At length Mr. Tupman caught the generally pervasive spirit of speculation and gallantly prope-~:d a game with Made- moiselle de Volage which, after a variety of little objections asily over-ruled, and a multitude of blush-s that did high credit to the modesty of her feelings, was ac- wRIe ' Whether the exhilerating effects of the wine he had drank or of the love that filled his soul, bewildered his mind; or whether he purposely, and from motives of gallantry, lost those large sums that were won by Mademoiselle de Volage at every consecu- tive game, has never transpired, It is nevertheless certain that upwards of a thousand francs changed proprietors that evening, and passed from the red morocco “ * PICK WICK ABROAD. , 47 pocket-book of Mr. Tupman to the elegant green silk purse of the fair Anastasie. But who could resist those bewitching smiles—that blush of maiden modesty which tinged her cheek, when Mr. Tup man’s foot touched her’s beneath the table —or the enchanting confidence with which she suffered her foot to remain in delicious contact with his? When she smiled, a beautiful row of ivory teeth was displayed —and when she dealt the cards, a diminu- tive hand, white as alabaster, attracted her lover’s impassioned gaze. Surely a thou- sand francs were not too dear a penalty to pay for enjoyment such as this! At length the cards were laid aside, and the black servant announced that supper was served in an adjoining room. Thithe did the whole party repair ; and if, in the course of the repast, the Marchioness did become somewhat intoxicated, and display certain pugilistic predilections totally at variance with her rank and prior deport. ment, the kindly feelings of Mr. Tupman readily found a becoming excuse in the fact, that as the worthy lady had herself compounded the rum-punch, she must ne- cessarily have tasted it several times to ascertain if any improvement were wanting. At this crisis, the Marchioness requested her daughter to fayor the company with a song; Anastasie accordingly commenced a popular air. LA PARISIENNE. Gallant nation! now before you Freedom, beck’ning onward, stands ; Let no tyrant’s sway be o’er you— Wrest the sceptre from his hands! Paris gave the general cry, ag Fame, and Liberty! peed, warriors, speed, Tho’ thousands bleed, Piere’d by the leaden ball, or crushed by thunder- ing steed ; Conquests wait—your foemen die ! : Keep your serried ranks in order ; Sons of France, your country calls! Gory hetacombs accord her— _ Well she merits each who falls! . Happyday! the general cry, | Echoed nought but liberty : A Speed, warriors, speed, — sia Tho’ thousands bleed, Piere’d by the leaden ball, or crush’d by thunder: ing steed ; Conquesis wait—your foemen die ! Vain the shot may sweep along you, Ranks of warriors now display’d ! Youthful gen’rals are among you, By the great occasion made ! Happy day! &e., &e. GOMIIGDOOo <.S C@