read
unutterabilities.

By Heaven! Here is the yellow Bodyguard Courier; spurring fast, in
the ruddy evening light! Steady, O Dandoins, stand with inscrutable
indifferent face; though the yellow blockhead spurs past the Post-house;
inquires to find it; and stirs the Village, all delighted with his fine
livery.--Lumbering along with its mountains of bandboxes, and Chaise
behind, the Korff Berline rolls in; huge Acapulco-ship with its
Cockboat, having got thus far. The eyes of the Villagers look
enlightened, as such eyes do when a coach-transit, which is an event,
occurs for them. Strolling Dragoons respectfully, so fine are the yellow
liveries, bring hand to helmet; and a lady in gipsy-hat responds with a
grace peculiar to her. (Declaration de la Gache in Choiseul ubi supra.)
Dandoins stands with folded arms, and what look of indifference and
disdainful garrison-air a man can, while the heart is like leaping out
of him. Curled disdainful moustachio; careless glance,--which however
surveys the Village-groups, and does not like them. With his eye he
bespeaks the yellow Courier. Be quick, be quick! Thick-headed Yellow
cannot understand the eye; comes up mumbling, to ask in words: seen of
the Village!

Nor is Post-master Drouet unobservant, all this while; but steps out and
steps in, with his long-flowing nightgown, in the level sunlight; prying
into several things. When a man's faculties, at the right time,
are sharpened by choler, it may lead to much. That Lady in slouched
gypsy-hat, though sitting back in the Carriage, does she not resemble
some one we have seen, some time;--at the Feast of Pikes, or elsewhere?
And this Grosse-Tete in round hat and peruke, which, looking rearward,
pokes itself out from time to time, methinks there are features in
it--? Quick, Sieur Guillaume, Clerk of the Directoire, bring me a
new Assignat! Drouet scans the new Assignat; compares the Paper-money
Picture with the Gross-Head in round hat there: by Day and Night! you
might say the one was an attempted Engraving of the other. And this
march of Troops; this sauntering and whispering,--I see it!

Drouet Post-master of this Village, hot Patriot, Old Dragoon of Conde,
consider, therefore, what thou wilt do. And fast: for behold the new
Berline, expeditiously yoked, cracks whipcord, and rolls away!--Drouet
dare not, on the spur of the instant, clutch the bridles in his own two
hands; Dandoins, with broadsword, might hew you off. Our poor Natio