“Pray, my dear Marquis,” said I, “who may this Monsieur Albert be?”
“Albert! Is it possible that you do not—but I forget. I can only tell you, mon cher, that this Monsieur Albert is a very remarkable man, and will be heard of hereafter among the ranks of the people. You seem to suspect a mystery? Well, well! There are mysteries in all great dramas, such as that which is now going on around us; so, for the present, you must be content to know my friend as simple Albert, ouvrier.”
“Hanged if I haven’t seen that fellow in the black choker before!” said Mr Bagsby; “or, at all events, I’ve seen his double. I say, Mr Dunshunner, who is the chap that came in just now?”
“I really cannot tell, Mr Bagsby. Monte-Christo calls him simply Mr Albert, a workman.”
“That’s their fraternity, I suppose! If I thought he was an operative, I’d be off in the twinkling of a billy-roller. But it’s all a hoax. Do you know, I think he’s very like a certain noble—”
Here an aide-de-camp, booted and spurred, dashed into the apartment.
“General! you are wanted immediately: the émeute has begun, half Paris is rushing to arms, and they are singing the Marseillaise through the streets!”
“Any thing else?” said the General, who, with inimitable sang froid, was sipping a tumbler of orgeat.
“Guizot has resigned.”
“Bravo!” cried the little gentleman above referred to—and he cut a caper that might have done credit to Vestris. “Bravo! there is some chance for capable men now.”