Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 109: what you’re looking at

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

76 Pickwick Abroad. freshing horse-pond; his lips wreathed into smiles, and his chest panting in a manner sesentiall y calculated to aid him in the passionate and glowing speech he intended to make to the young lady, who anxiously waited his return, did Mr. Tupman slowly retrace his steps, bearing the evidence of a glorious triumph in his hand. ‘* Madam,” said he, approaching the young lady with downcast eyes, and laying his hand upon his heart, “deign to pardon—ah! ha —I'm so out of breath—the liberty which I ven to take—’’ and here Mr. Tupman was seized with so violent a fit of coughing that he found it quite impossible to achieve that which he had so admirably commenced. The young lady, however, came to his assistance. ‘‘ Tank you, sare,” said she with the most amiable smile and in the most interesting broken English in the world; ‘“‘me vary much your debtor—me you tousand times, sare—me tell mamma of one po- lite Inglis gentslhomme.”’ Mr. Tupman could only bow; his feelings and his cough over- powered him. The young lady then proceeded. ‘‘ But me fraid you no do good yourself, running in dat hurry, sare; me hop you not ill, sare, on my account ;”—and the young lady’s tone became exceedingly tremulous. “Thank you, madam—ugh! ugh! ugh!” began the gallant Mr. Tracy Tupman: “no toil—ugh! ugh! ugh!—is too much—ugh! ugh! ugh!—when the eyes of beauty witness your exertions—ugh ! h !’—and Mr. Tupman’s cough rendered the scene more sentimental still, and gave his speech an additional air of politeness, which the young lady could not but have appreciated; for instead of bowing and pursuing her walk, she lingered to renew her thanks, to assure Mr. Tupman that she should not forget to tell her mamma, the Marchioness, of the polite attention she had received, and that if her brother, the Count, had been at home, she should have taken the liberty of inviting, in his name, the “gallant Inglis genti/homme” to their house in the Rue Neuve des Petits Champs close by. Not a word of all this was lost upon the sensitive Tracy Tupman. His cough grew much better when he found that he was in conversa- tion with the daughter of a Marchioness; it scarcely troubled him when he understood that her brother was a Count; and it entirely left him so soon as an invitation to her residence was even slightly hinted at. ‘Could I be permitted the honour of escorting you,” said Mr. Tupman with a very low bow, “as far as your house ?”’ “ Me not give so much trouble, Sare,” interrupted the young lady, casting down her beautiful eyes. ‘‘ Allow me, I beseech you, the honour, madam,” persisted Mr. Tupman; and the young lady, suffering her bashfulness to be over- ruled in this respect, yielded her arm to the polite Englishman, who beckoned Mr. Boozie to follow at a respectful distance. “Has Monsieur long been at Paris?” enquired the charming crea ture, as she walked up the gallery of the Palais Royal towards the Rue Vivienne, with her gallant chaperon. ‘Only a few days, madam,” returned Mr. Tupman; “but since I have now the honour of being acquainted with—with—” “* Mademoiselle de Volage is my name, Sare,” said the young lady. COL q) HOOKS (c@