Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 110: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 77 “My fader was one general to Napoleon: he have great many bi wound—he die vary rich ten year go—and poor mamma lose near her fortune in Revolution of July.’ Mr. Tupman felt the arm of his fair companion tremble in his; and at the idea of her misfortunes—she, so young, so innocent, so tender, and so beautiful—the perspiration ran copiously down his extensive face, and a deep ugh escaped from his capacious breast to exemplify the sympathy he felt in the unprotected situation of Mademoiselle de Volage. Such disinterested and noble conduct was not lost upon the charming object of his solicitude ; for his arm received an almost invo- luntary pressure—a pressure that gratitude wrests from modesty—from the fingers of the fair girl. The enactment of this little piece of tragedy occupied the time ne- cessary to emerge from the Palais Royal, and enter the Rue Neuve des Petits Champs, in which the dwelling of Madame the Marchioness de Volage was situate. It is true that the house itself had nothing in ts exterior appearance to recommend it, and that the court-yard emitted various unpleasant smells of garlic, onions, stables, &c., at twhich Mr. Tupman’s nose was in great indignation; but the sight of the well-turned ancle and graceful form of the young lady, as she lightly tripped up a narrow stair-case on the right hand side of the porte céchere, recalled Mr. Tupman’s mind from mundane ideas to the more delicious dreams of love. He accordingly followed his fair guide as quickly as he could up the stairs, till they arrived at the sixth floor, while Mr. Boozie, with unprecedented complaisance, mounted guard in the street below, wondering at the time “ what the devil Tupman was up to,” and trying to remember whether such an adventure had ever befallen himself. In the meantime, Mademoiselle de Volage rang at the bell of a suite of apartments on the sixth floor, and the summons was imme- diately answered by an old lady of about fifty, tolerably well dressed, and adomed with an immense quantity of chains and artificial flowers -—the former round her neck, the latter in her head-dress. ‘‘Ah! my dear mamma,” said the young lady, speaking in English for the especial behoof of Mr. Tupman: “what! you answer ring, yourself Where thu e lazy servants? where Lisette? where eur ?”’ “Gone for holiday,” replied the venerable dame, eyeing the stranger askance. ‘‘ But, pray, come in—d are,” Mr. Tupman accordingly followed his fair guide and her noble mother across a small ante-chamber, into a drawing-room indifferently furnish The mantel-piece was covered with an extraordinary quantity of frivolous and faded ornaments—a heap of dingy ribands, half-finished purses, reticules just begun, &c., was congregated upon the table—and a frame for embroidery stood in one corner of the room. “ How beautiful is industry in young persons!” thought Mr. Tu man ; and he sighed as he glanced at the lovely features of Mademoiselle de Volage, who was occupied in narrating, in her interesting broken English, to her attentive mother, the kindness of Mr. Tupman relative to the handkerchief, ‘‘which she had dropped by one accident.” A renewal of thanks then ensued; a conversation, in which the attrac- tions of Paris were elaborately discussed, commenced in its turn; and COL (a) DGe SS (c@