Pickwick Abroad; or, The Tour in France — page 180: what you’re looking at

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

FICKWICK ABROAD. 167 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-Tinville 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 guitotine—they continved their way over the magnificent Place Lonis ee a ee | 4 “way 2g BUNAE 2. se eee « XVI., where a monarch had lately suffered, and where hundreds daily perished—they proceeded m 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 Café ———-.__ 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 ker glass. *“ You do not justice to the fare I have provided for you, Delle cttoy- enne,” said Fouquier-Tinville, during an interval occasioned by the removal of a course and the preparation of another. ‘“* May I desire to be informed 1f—if—” ‘‘ My resolves are still unchanged,” returned Marguerite, a slight blush animating her countenance which sorrow and alarm rendered deadly paie. “Pledge me ina glass, sweet maid,” cried the republican, as he tossed off a bumper of Champagne, and cast a familiar glance at his intended victim. ‘* What! you refuse, Marguerite 2 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- Eomichooksico