helping
him to a couple of fine juicy ones. "Oh, thank you, my lady, thank you,
my lady, I'm nearly satisfied." "Vous ne mangez pas," said she, giving
him half a plate of grapes. "Oh, my lady, you don't understand me--I
can't eat any more--I am regularly high and dry--chock full--bursting,
in fact." Here she handed him a plate of sponge-cakes mixed with
bon-bons and macaroons, saying, "Vous etes un pauvre mangeur--vous
ne mangez rien, Monsieur." "Oh dear, she does not understand me, I
see.--Indeed, my lady, I cannot eat any more.--Ge woudera, se ge
could-era, mais ge can-ne-ra pas!" "Well, now, I've travelled three
hundred thousand miles, and never heard such a bit of French as that
before," said the fat man, chuckling.

IX. MR. JORROCKS IN PARIS

As the grey morning mist gradually dispersed, and daylight began to
penetrate the cloud that dimmed the four squares of glass composing the
windows of the diligence, the Yorkshireman, half-asleep and half-awake,
took a mental survey of his fellow-travellers.--Before him sat his
worthy friend, snoring away with his mouth open, and his head, which
kept bobbing over on to the shoulder of the Countess, enveloped in the
ample folds of a white cotton nightcap.--She, too, was asleep and,
disarmed of all her daylight arts, dozed away in tranquil security. Her
mouth also was open, exhibiting rather a moderate set of teeth, and
her Madonna front having got a-twist, exposed a mixture of brown and
iron-grey hairs at the parting place. Her bonnet swung from the roof
of the diligence, and its place was supplied by a handsome lace cap,
fastened under her chin by a broad-hemmed cambric handkerchief.
Presently the sun rose, and a bright ray shooting into the Countess's
corner, awoke her with a start, and after a hurried glance at the
passengers, who appeared to be all asleep, she drew a small ivory-cased
looking-glass from her bag, and proceeded to examine her features. Mr.
Jorrocks awoke shortly after, and with an awful groan exclaimed that
his backbone was fairly worn out with sitting. "Oh dear!" said he, "my
behind aches as if I had been kicked all the way from Hockleyhole to
Marylebone. Are we near Paris? for I'm sure I can't find seat any
longer, indeed I can't. I'd rather ride two hundred miles in nine hours,
like H'osbaldeston, than be shut up in this woiture another hour. It
really is past bearing, and that's the long and short of the matter."
This exclamation roused all the par