'There he goes!'—Page 261.
'I hope not,' replied the baronet; 'no bones broken, I trust?'
'Bones! I don't think I've such a thing as a bone belonging to me no more than if I had been hermetically sealed in a register-boiler. I tell you I'm nothing but a huge fricandeau; you may cut me in slices, and take me out piecemeal.'
'I am happy to hear you are in a state to make merry with your misfortunes, my dear sir,' rejoined Sir William; 'but, seriously, how shall we manage to get you out?'
'The tiger is dead as Napoleon, uncle, and lies at the feet of your favourite Apicius,' said William.
'And the horses are taken off,' added the baronet; 'but I fear the raising of the carriage to assist your descending cannot be effected without giving you some more severe jolting. Where is your valet? Perhaps he can help you if the coach-door be got open. Melange,' cried Mr. Clairmont, 'are you dead or stupid?'
'Ni l'un ni l'autre, monsieur,' replied the servant doggedly.
'Then pray bestir yourself, and get me out of this miserable ruin. Don't you hear them say the tiger is killed? Why do you stay sprawling here looking as ghastly as if he were grinning at you in all his glory?'