“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.”
“Be under no alarm, Mr Bagsby,” said Monte-Christo; “you are now under the protection of the National Guard. But to business. Which of the citizens assembled is spokesman here?”
“I am the president!” hiccupped Jupiter Potard, who, throughout the morning, had been unremitting in his attentions to the bottle.
“Then, you will understand that, by orders of the Provisional Government, all must evacuate the palace within a quarter of an hour.”
“Louis Philippe had seventeen years of it,” replied Jupiter Potard. “I won’t abdicate a minute sooner!”
“And I,” said Pomme-de-terre, “expect a handsome pension for my pains.”
“Or at least,” said Saigne-du-nez, “we must have permission to gut the interior.”
“You have done quite enough mischief already,” said Monte-Christo; “so prepare to move. My orders are quite peremptory, and I shall execute them to the letter!”