“_Sacre_, no mutiny!” cried the butcher; “don’t we know that the sovereign will of the people must be respected? There is thy friend there, as happy as may be; go round and profit by his example.” Sure enough I discovered poor Bagsby extended in a corner of the hall. The orgies of last evening were sufficient to account for his haggard countenance and blood-shot eyes, but hardly for the multitudinous oaths which he ejaculated from time to time. Beside him sat a bloated poissarde, who was evidently enamoured of his person, and tended him with all that devotion which is the characteristic of the gentler sex. As it was beyond the power of either to hold any intelligible conversation, the lady contrived to supply its place by a system of endearing pantomime. Sometimes she patted Bagsby on the cheek, then chirupped as a girl might do when coaxing a bird to open its mouth, and occasionally endeavoured to insinuate morsels of garlic and meat between his lips. “Oh, Mr Dunshunner! save me from this hag!” muttered Bagsby. “I have such a splitting headach, and she will insist on poisoning me with her confounded trash! Faugh, how she smells of eels! Oh dear! oh dear! is there no way of getting out? The barricades and the fighting are nothing compared to this!” “I am afraid, Mr Bagsby,” said I, “there is no remedy but patience. Our friends here seem quite determined to hold out, and I am afraid that they would use little ceremony, did we make any show of resistance.” “I know that well enough!” said Bagsby: “they wanted to hang me last night, because I made a run to the door: only, the women would not let them. What do you want, you old harridan? I wish you would take your fingers from my neck!” “_Ce cher bourgeois!_” murmured the poissarde: “_c’est un méchant drôle, mais assez joli!_” “Upon my word, Mr Bagsby, I think you have reason to congratulate yourself on your conquest. At all events, don’t make enemies of the women; for, heaven knows, we are in a very ticklish situation, and I don’t like the looks of several of those fellows.” “If ever I get home again,” said Bagsby, “I’ll renounce my errors, turn Tory, go regularly to church, and pray for the Queen. I’ve had enough of liberty to last me the rest of my natural lifetime. But, I say, my dear friend, couldn’t you just rid me of this woman for half an hour or so? You will find her a nice chatty sort of person; only, I don’t quite comprehend what she says.” “Utterly impossible, Mr Bagsby! See, they are about something now. Our friend the barber is rising to speak.”