Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 214: what you’re looking at

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

* Pickwick Abroad. ET of sand beneath the exact spot where the hatchet fell on the neck of the condemned. | This horrible spectacle—the bloody paraphernalia of death ~—struck terror to the heart of Marguerite d’ Ermanville. But Fouquier-Tinvillé trembled not—neither did he pretend to notice the pain his cruelty caused the unhappy girl whose charms he intended to immolate to his lusts. They passed by the frowning poles of the guillotine—they continued their way over the magnificent Place Louis SSS =SS SS SS ‘a wall | ae A wii — = —= SS RT os is i; itl y » fe Hi mY 4 SSO — SS = = a Li a —— TT RYT ii rv Z : = ' : Ho | it ae i 1 ATA FE) V4 f ULLAL inne = fF HUET OH 2 ab ae ——— ——— = —= ie L { | ff a = — XVL., where a monarch had lately suffered, and where hundreds daily perished—they proceeded in the direction of the Palace of the Minister of the Marine, and pursued their course up the Rue Royale. The Public Accuser cast a scrutinizing glance around him—seemed satis- fied that none of his acquaintances was nigh—and, having thus ap- parently tranquillized himself on that head, he led his companion toa private cabinet in the Cafe -- A copious breakfast— dejeuner a la fourchette—or, to suit the appellation given to that meal in the Eng- lish language, luncheon—was speedily served up, to which he himself did unequivocal honour, while Marguerite suffered the highly-seasoned meats to remain untouched on her plate, and the generous wines un- savoured in her glass. ** You do not justice to the fare I have provided for you, belle citoy- enné,’ said Fouquier-Tinville, during an interval occasioned by the removal of a course and the preparation of another. ‘* May I desire to be informed if—if—” ‘* My resolves are still unchanged,” returned Marguerite, a slight blush animating her countenance which sorrow and alarm rendered deadly pale. * Pledge me in a glass, sweet maid,” cried the republican, as he tossed off a bumper of Champagne, and cast a familiar glance at his rey victim. ‘‘What! you refuse, Marguerite? Dost thou know that—’ | But Fouquier-Tinville hesitated as before: an indescribabie emo- tion—a sentiment of awe—invariably checked him when he was about to utter any thing indelicate or offensive. Marguerite was in appear- EORNICLOOOKS (EO)