“Oh! but such a woman—such a she-devil rather!” groaned Bagsby. “I shouldn’t be the least surprised if she bites as bad as a crocodile. How can I ever take such a monster home, and introduce her to my friends?” “I see no occasion for that, my good fellow. Why not stay here and become a naturalised Frenchman?” “Here? I’d as soon think of staying in a lunatic asylum! Indeed I may be in one soon enough, for flesh and blood can’t stand this kind of torture long. But I say,” continued he, a ray of hope flashing across his countenance, “they surely can’t make it a real marriage after all. Hanged if any one of these blackguards is a clergyman; and even if he was, they haven’t got a special license.” “Don’t deceive yourself, Mr Bagsby,” said I; “marriage in France is a mere social contract, and can be established by witnesses, of whom there will be but too many present.” “Then I say they are an infernal set of incarnate pestiferous heathens! What! marry a man whether he will or not, and out of church! It’s enough to draw down a judgment upon the land.” “You forget, Mr Bagsby. You need not marry unless you choose; it is a mere question of selection between a wedding and an execution,—between the lady and a certain rope, which, I can assure you, Monsieur Destripes, or his friend Gratte-les-rues, will have no hesitation in handling. Indeed, from significant symptoms, I conclude that their fingers are itching for some such practice.” “They are indeed two horrid-looking blackguards!” said Bagsby dolefully. “I wish I had pluck enough to be hanged: after all, it could not be much worse than marriage. And yet I don’t know. There may be some means of getting a divorce, or she may drink herself to death, for, between you and me, she seems awfully addicted to the use of ardent spirits.” “Fie! Mr Bagsby; how can you talk so of your bride upon the wedding-day! Be quick! get into those trousers, and never mind the fit. It may be dangerous to keep them waiting long; and, under present circumstances, it would be prudent to abstain from trying the temper of the lady too severely.” “I never thought to be married this way!” sighed Bagsby, putting on the military coat, which, being stiff with embroidery, and twice too big for him, stuck out like an enormous cuirass. “If my poor old mother could see me now, getting into the cast-off clothes of some outlandish Frenchman—” “She would admire you exceedingly, I am sure. Do you know you look quite warlike with these epaulets! Come now—on with the sash, take another thimble-ful of brandy, and then to the altar like a man!” “I daresay you mean well, Mr Dunshunner; but I have listened to more pleasant conversation. I say—what is to prevent my getting up the chimney?” “Mere madness! The moment you are missed they will fire up it. Believe me, you have not a chance of escape; so the sooner you resign yourself to your inevitable destiny the better.” Here a loud knocking was heard at the door.