“Certainly. There is nothing to prevent you. But I am rather curious to hear about this marriage.”
“Why,” said I, “the truth is, my dear Marquis, that the subject is rather a delicate one for our friend. He has just been officiating in the capacity of bridegroom.”
“You amaze me!” said Monte-Christo; “and which, may I ask, is the fair lady?”
Here Demoiselle Céphyse came forward.
“Citizen officer,” she said, “I want my husband!”
“You hear, Monsieur Bagsby?” said Monte-Christo, in intense enjoyment of the scene. “The lady says she has a claim upon you.”
“It’s all a lie!” shouted Bagsby. “I’ve got nothing to say to the woman. I hate and abhor her!”
“Monstre!” shrieked the poissarde, judging of Bagsby’s ungallant repudiation rather from his gestures than his words. And she sprang towards him with the extended talons of a tigress. Bagsby, however, was this time too nimble for her, and took refuge behind the ranks of the National Guard, who were literally in convulsions of laughter.
“I will have thee, though, polisson!” cried the exasperated bride. “I will have thee, though I were to follow thee to the end of the world! Thou hast consented to be my husband, little tisserand, and I never will give thee up.”
“Keep her off! good, dear soldiers,” cried Bagsby: “pray, keep her off! I shall be murdered and torn to pieces if she gets hold of me! Oh, Mr Dunshunner! do tell them to protect me with their bayonets.”