Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 181: what you’re looking at

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

138 Pickwick Abroad. quietly on with the horses, the vehicle, and the travellers; we shall turn with them from the direct road, at the commencement of Au- teuil; we shall accompany them in safety through the Bois de Bou- logne—or Boulogne Wood—where, by the bye, Mr. Winkle whis- pered something, with a very pale face, about robbers and murderers, in Mr. Tupman’s ears; and we shall assist the little party to alight at the back entrance to Legriel’s celebrated restaurant at St. Cloud. The hackney-coachman having been duly tutored by the thought- ful Dumont, saved Mr. Pickwick and his friends a world of trouble by desiring the waiter to provide a sumptuous repast for those gentle- men, and by conducting Mr. Weller to the kitchen, where a few dishes were speedily served up for their own especial behoof. By great good luck, the very identical German courier, who has been once or twice slightly alluded to in these memoirs, happened to be at St. Cloud on the very identical day, the adventures of which we are now so faith- fully narrating. The moment Mr, Pickwick, Mr. Tupman, and Mr. Winkle had been left to their fate by the hackney-coach driver, did the courier compassionately pounce upon them; and having first en- gaged their attention by speaking a language which, after some diffi- culty, they recognised to be their own vernacular tongue, he in two minutes put them in possession of certain facts, chiefly relating to his honourable calling, vast learning, and extensive travel, to all of which they listened with the deference suitable to the importance and solemnity of the subject. ‘‘ Gentelmans no dine yet, suppose?” said the courier, when he had brought his autobiographical sketch to a very desirable conclusion. ‘‘ Eh 2?” enquired Mr, Pickwick, considerably alarmed. ‘‘ Do you mean to say, my good man, that we cannot dine here ?’’—and the im- mortal gentleman eyed the short, fat, shabbily-clad courier from head to foot with a glance of extreme inquisitiveness that would have startled any ordinary individual. Mr. Winkle, however, luckily com- prehended the German’s question, and gave the requisite reply. ‘‘Gentelmans like see king’s retreat in hot wedder?’’ demanded the courier. | ‘¢ A summer-house, I suppose,”’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Is there any thing remarkable besides the grape-vines attached to it ?” ‘“¢' Yes—yes,”’ replied the courier; ‘‘ plenty of ting. First, there is vere fine fish.” | “Ah! hung up to dry; I see,’’ observed Mr. Pickwick, rubbing his hands with philanthropic delight to think that the king attended to all his little comforts as well as to the affairs of the nation. The courier perceived that there was'a mistake somewhere; and thinking that any explanation or attempt to rectify it by words would be useless—for he entertained the unholy and ridiculous idea that Mr. Pickwick was an old fool, and Messieurs Tupman and Winkle nothing better—he made a sign which no one could misinterpret, and which was immediately obeyed. The German accordingly led the way through the extensive park, and conducted the three gentlemen to the Palace of St. Cloud, the chaste and simple, but beautiful architecture of which elicited the warmest approbation of the distinguished persons of whose presence the building was unhappily unconscious, else had its thou- sand bricks sent forth as many melodious voices to welcome their ECORNIELIOO KS, (EC)