Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 324: what you’re looking at

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

270 PiILKWILCK ABROAD. house, in the traces of the gentleman who carried the lamp befure to show the way. The gentleman led the travellers into a spacious and well-lighted room, in which a table was spread for about fourteen or fifteen people Two or three servants in gorgeous liveries were occupied in arranging a most succulent repast upon the board; and ten or twelve ladies were seated at one end of the apartment, chattering away as if they were ag many magpies. <¢ Pray what are your friends’ names, Sir?” asked the gentleman, who appeared to be the master of the house, in French, of Mr. Scuttle. ‘‘This is my niece, Mrs. Weston,”’ replied Mr. Scuttle; “that is Mr. Siffkin—and this is Mr. Pickwick.” The gentleman bowed profoundly; and at the name of Pickwick the ten ladies at the end of the room burst into a simultaneous shout of laughter, so loud and long, that Mr. Nassau Siffkin actually ap- pealed to Mr. Scuttle to ascertain if he were awake or dreaming. ‘‘T really don’t know,” answered Mr. Scuttle, somewhat alarmed himself; “but the human imagination does occasionally run riot to an extraordinary degree. The other day, having just taken a pinch of snuff, and wanting to blow my nose, I took out my pocket-handker- chief, but accidentally dropped it. Stooping to pick it up, I seized hold of the skirt of a lady’s dress, wiped my nose with it, and was about to stuff in into my coat-pocket, when—what do you think? I never found out my mistake till the lady’s husband came and kicked me out of the house.” “God bless me!”’ exclaimed Mr. Siffkin: “may I never put another female heart to torture, if the ladies ain’t all staring -at Pick- © wick’s black gaiters, and he is bowing—strike me! like a madman !” This was indeed the case; and most exhilarating was the sight. The ladies were convulsed with laughter—Mr. Pickwick with bows—and Mrs. Weston with affright. The little old gentleman, ‘whom one of the servants alluded to as the Doctor, speedily restored order: the ten or twelve ladies took as many seats at the supper-table —the travellers followed this example—the Doctor occupied an arm- chair at the end of the hospitable board—and the meal commenced. Two seats, however, still remained unoccupied. In a few minutes the door opened, and an aged matron entered the room, leading by the hand one of the most lovely girls mortal ever yet beheld. She was not above eighteen—uand her countenance was deadly pale: but her dark, flashing eye—her long raven locks—the admirable symmetry of her person—and the melancholy cast of he: features, were calculated to make an impression even upon the most callous heart, which time could never efface. The matron started when she saw strangers seated at the table. ‘but the doctor made a sign—and the old lady led the lovely being to a vacant seat, and placed herself in a chair by her side. Not a word assed between them: that fair girl appeared inanimate as to every eature, save her eyes—and she seemed to eat mechanically. A long pause ensued: there was something mysterious in all this which struck Mr. Pickwick and his companions as extraordinary and which made them feel rather uncomfortable, they knew not why ‘I wonder whether we can have a hackney-coach,” said Mr. Pick- CORNICLOG @ cS (COUN