“I believe it mainly proceeds from the King having forbidden some of the deputies to dine together in public.”
“You don’t say so!” cried Bagsby: “what an old fool he must be! Blowed if I wouldn’t have taken the chair in person, and sent them twelve dozen of champagne to drink my health.”
“Kings, Mr Bagsby, are rarely endowed with a large proportion of such sagacity as yours. But really we must go forth and look a little about us. It is past mid-day, and I cannot hear any firing. You may rely upon it that the contest has been settled in one way or another—either the people have been appeased, or, what is more likely, the troops have sided with them. We must endeavour to obtain some information.”
“You may do as you like,” said Bagsby, “but my mind is made up. I’m off for Havre this blessed afternoon.”
“My dear sir, you cannot. No passports can be obtained just now, and the mob has taken up the railroads.”
“What an idiot I was ever to come here!” groaned Bagsby. “Mercy on me! must I continue in this den of thieves, whether I will or no?”
“I am afraid there is no alternative. But you judge the Parisians too hastily, Mr Bagsby. I perceive they have respected your watch.”
“Ay, but you heard what that chap said about the slaughter-house lane. I declare he almost frightened me into fits. But where are you going?”
“Out, to be sure. If you choose to remain—”
“Not I. Who knows but they may take a fancy to seek for me here, and carry me away again! I won’t part with the only Englishman I know in Paris, though I think it would be more sensible to remain quietly where we are.”