'Yes, that's what's yonder individual, who pretends that he knew her, denominated her; but I inflect he's a joker.'
'Tall, with an Italian face and black hair?' asked O'Hara eagerly.
'Ay, ay, tall, with a handsome, despising face, and long hair, as black as a grenadier's bearskin.'
'I, too, think I know her—if it be the same.'
'If it be the same! It strikes me, jokers are consolidating in the Morgue to-day. Good-morning, bourgeois, I'm an old soldier,' and away marched the veteran.
A pretty little girl, coquettishly clad in the costume of the grisette, a well-fitting robe of gray, relieved by a tidy patent leather belt with clasp, setting off her figure, and large imitation coral drops glistening under her bright chestnut hair, entered at the moment, a basket on her arm, as if returning from her work.
'Have you seen the bodies yet, please, sir?' she said to O'Hara.
'Not yet, mademoiselle,' he replied graciously; 'but if you wait a little, I shall get a place for both to see them.'
She smiled her thanks.
'Now, then, forward. It's the first time I have ever seen a crush at the Morgue;' and they perseveringly made their way to the front.