“The first time in history,” declared the old hands of the Palais-Bourbon, “the Chamber has ever recorded a unanimous vote!”
It was now seven o’clock in the evening, and as they emerged on the Quai d’Orsay, greeted with acclamation by the throng of idlers waiting outside, members jostled against newsboys crying special editions of the evening papers, wherein were already described in the minutest detail the extraordinary events that had just taken place.
CHAPTER V
DISAPPOINTED HOPES
“So your birth certificate is an unknown quantity, eh? and there’s no means of knowing what your name properly is?”
“What can that matter to you, Monsieur Moche?”
“Oh! for me, it’s nothing to me. I don’t care a hang; you’re a tremendous cute chap, that’s all I want to know; your patent of nobility you can leave with your ‘uncle,’ if that’s where you’ve deposited it, eh, my lad?”
“That’s where it is—or somewhere else, Monsieur Moche.”
“Remember, prisons keep records, now, don’t they?”
“Don’t talk about that, sir!”
“Agreed, my boy! now look’ee, for the friends of the family, for Paulet, the wench Nini, and the rest of the pals, you shall be ‘Little Tremendous,’ that’s settled. Then, if clients come to see me, well, I’ll give you a title of ceremony—d’you cotton to that?”