Alfred de Rosann by G.W.M. Reynolds — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

44 Alfred de Rosann. During the confabulation between the mother and daughter which we have so faithfully related, Champignon’s ear caught the word volaille. We have before stated that he had already made up his mind as to the nature and origin of the said discourse, to which the girl’s repeated nods and winks gave an additional air of mys- tery. He therefore thought it was now high time to interfere; and stepping forward as far as the chains would permit him, for his comrade would not move an inch, he said in a dulcet tone of voice, ‘* Madame, I think I can enlighten you relative to the object of your discussion.” ‘s Pardie!”’ exclaimed the landlady; “that’s exactly what I want. I and my daughter are talking about a couple of fowls—” ‘¢ Ah! ah!” interrupted Champignon with a complacent smile: ‘¢ [’m at home there!” ‘¢ The devil you are! and where are they?” ‘‘T thought—O I find I am—that is,” stammered Cham- pignon, with a disconsolate look, ‘* I—I—am a little—mis- taken.” ‘¢ Come—come!” cried the good woman: ‘no equivocation, my worthy fellow.” | ‘‘If I be in the wrong, Madame,” said Champignon meekly, ‘¢ T am willing to make every apology. ‘¢ Apology—apology! The greedy dog!” screamed the infuriate landlady; and rushing upon the gastronomer, like a lioness loosened from her cage, she soon left the traces of her nails upon his two cheeks, tore his wig from his head, and broke the bottle of wine in the scuffle. The precious juice drenched Champignon’s small- clothes. throughout, and ran upon the floor in many meandering streams. This. lamentable sight only irritated the already out- rageous termagant the more; and God knows how the conflict might have ended with regard to Champignon, had it not been interrupted by the timely aid of the Gendarmes. ‘¢ Is that the thief, Felicité?”’ shrieked the landlady, pointing to Champignon, when she had partially recovered breath. ‘‘.Thief! No—mother: that’s the poor man who is condemned for having made pies of dead bodies.” A roar of laughter followed this declaration, while Champignon, stupid with astonishment, rages and terror, could not find words to justify himself against so awful an accusation. ‘¢ In the name of God, explain these mysteries, Felicite, the exasperated parent, when silence was again established. ‘¢ Mother,” replied the girl, “ I told you uncle Thomas took the fowls, which I gave him; and he is amongst those prisoners.” ‘¢ Where—where—O where is my poor brother?” whimpered the landlady, her wrath subsiding into tears. *‘ There!’ answered Felicite, pointing to Belle-Rose. ‘¢ That my brother Thomas! that your uncle!” cried the woman in a contemptuous tone of voice. ‘* No—no: Thomas never was such a mannikin as that!” ‘¢ He grew a foot and a half shorter in one night, mamma?’ ‘‘ Begone, insolence!” roared the infuriate mother, dealing a ” cried COnicbooolks (GO)