I know of such matters," replied he, "you were both in a
very fair way to repair that mistake on her part. But hark! what is
this?" A tremendous noise in the street here interrupted our colloquy,
and on opening the window, a strange scene presented itself to our eyes.
In the middle of a dense mass of moving rabble, shouting, yelling, and
screaming, with all their might, were two gens d'armes with a prisoner
between them. The unhappy man was followed by a rather well-dressed,
middle-aged looking woman, who appeared to be desirous of bestowing the
most covam publico endearments upon the culprit, whom a second glance
showed us was O'Leary.

"I tell you, my dear madam, you are mistaken," said O'Leary, addressing
her with great sternness of manner and voice.

"Mistaken! Never, never. How could I ever be mistaken in that dear
voice, those lovely eyes, that sweet little nose?"

"Take her away; she's deranged," said O'Leary to the gens d'armes.
"Sure, if I'm a Pole, that's enough of misfortune."

"I'll follow him to the end of the earth, I will."

"I'm going to the galleys, God be praised," said O'Leary.

"To the galleys--to the guillotine--any where," responded she, throwing
herself upon his neck, much less, as it seemed, to his gratification,
than that of the mob, who laughed and shouted most uproariously.

"Mrs. Ram, ain't you ashamed?"

"He calls me by my name," said she, "and he attempts to disown me. Ha!
ha! ha! ha!" and immediately fell off into a strong paroxysm of kicking,
and pinching, and punching the bystanders, a malady well known under the
name of hysterics; but being little more than a privileged mode, among
certain ladies, of paying off some scores, which it is not thought decent
to do in their more sober moments.

"Lead me away--anywhere--convict me of what you like," said he, "but
don't let her follow me."

The gens d'armes, who little comprehended the nature of the scene before
them, were not sorry to anticipate a renewal of it on Mrs. Ram's
recovery, and accordingly seized the opportunity to march on with
O'Leary, who turned the corner of the Rue Rivoli, under a shower of
"meurtriers" and "scelerats" from the mob, that fell fortunately most
unconsciously upon his ears.

The possibility of figuring in such a procession contributed much to the
force of Trevanion's reasonings, and I resolved to leave Paris at once.

"Promise me, then, to involve yourself in no more scrapes for
half-an-hour.