Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 262: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 213 that Thad not breathed my intention of calling upon the great man to a single soul. “‘ Certainly !” cried M. Vidocq, with a triumphant smile. ‘* You suffered Captain de Bellois to escape last night—and all the cunning of your comrades, Gendarmes as ye age, will not be able to detect his hiding-place without my aid. Did I, therefore, mis-calculate my mani bid I not foresee this visit? O whed ‘last night at 1” he added with an ironical chuckle; “‘ you laug ast night at hearing de Limeul—the poor fool talk of out-witting Vidocq ; and now you seek my aid and advice!” “If I uttered any thing disrespectful,” I began, more and more astonished at what I heard—‘ I am sorry—” ‘‘Oh! no—I am accustomed to hear myself somewhat singularly spoken of at times, Dumont; and I know that you merely laughed reciprocally to your master’s humour. You would have shed tears had he wept: such is human nature !—But, now—with regard to this Captain? Your credit will suffer if he be not found—eh?” “‘ Beyond all doubt, you are acquainted with my thoughts as well as with my actions,” said I submissively. “ Frankly acknowledged, Dumont!” exclaimed Vidocq: then con- sulting some papers that lay before him, he added in a measured tone of voice as his eye glanced over them—*‘ He must be in the Marais— Rue Charlot—at the house of a woman of the town—Mademoieelle Lemoine—Number 7—where he may be found at thismoment. Go—I have put you in the way of regaining your prisoner, Dumont—de- part !”—and, without waiting to be thanked, this extraordinary man pushed me gently ont of his office. Overjoyed. at the successful result of my visit to M. Vidocaq, I immediately jumped into a cabriolet, and, according to his directions, repaired to the Rue Charlot. I alighted from the vehiele at the com- mencement of the street, and proceeded to the house that had been indicated to me. “ Does a certain Mademoiselle Lemome reside here?” enquired I, of the porter who was quietly mending a pair of shoes in his lodge. ‘< To-morrow afternoon,’ was the reply. ‘6 Mademoiselle Lemoine?” I cried fonder than before; ‘‘ does she reside here ?”’ “Qh! I thought you were asking after the pork-butcher’s shoes, my friend,” returned the porter; “‘ but, tell Mademoiselle Lemoine that I cannot give her any more credit, and that if she receive ber lovers so late as two o’clock in the morning—”’ I stayed to hear no more—the deaf porter’s remark was more than sufficient to corroborate the statement of one whose information was seldom, if ever, found to be incorrect. I accordingly hastened up stairs, opining that the gallant lady resided in the garret—the usual abode of such dames—and knocked at the first door which met my eyes in a long dark gallery on the top floor. A suspicious noise at e lock of the door convinced me that some one was employed to reconnéitre the visitor; I therefore, without any more ado, ap- plied a vigorous kick to the fragile barrier, and forced an easy pas- sage into the chamber. ' “Upon my word!’ cried Mademoiselle Lemoine—for so I supposed DGe (©) COL SS (c@