Mildred Arkell. Vol. 2 (of 3). Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ and I don't think it's any foreign animal. It looks to me like veal. Veal, waiter?" she asked, appealingly.

      "Oui, madame," was the answer, at a venture.

      "And the green stuff round it is spinach, of course. Veal and spinach, my dear."

      "That's good, that is, veal and spinach. I'll try it," said Mr. Dundyke.

      He helped himself plentifully, and, pushing the dish to his wife, voraciously took the first mouthful, for he was fearfully hungry.

      It was a rash proceeding. What in the world had he got hold of! Veal and spinach!—Heaven protect him from poison! It was some horrible, soft compound, sharp and sour; it turned him sick at once, and set his teeth on edge. He became very pale, and called faintly for the waiter.

      But the garçon had long ago whisked off to other parts of the room, and there was Mr. Dundyke obliged to sit with that nauseous mystery underneath his very nose.

      "Waiter!" he roared out at length, with all the outraged dignity of a common-councilman, "I say, waiter! For the love of goodness take this away: it's only fit for pigs. There's a dish there, with two little ducks upon it, and some carrots round 'em—French ducks I suppose they are: an Englishman might shut up shop if he placed such on his table. Bring it here."

      "Plait-il, monsieur?"

      "Them ducks—there—at the top, by the pickled cowcumbers. I'll take one."

      The waiter ranged his perplexed eyes round and round the table. "Pardon, monsieur, plait-il?"

      "I think you are an idiot, I do!" roared out Mr. Dundyke, unable to keep both his hunger and his temper. "That dish of ducks, I said, and it is being seized upon! They are tearing them to pieces! they are gone! Good Heavens! are we to famish like this?"

      The waiter, in despair, laid hold of a slice of melon in one hand and the salt and pepper in the other, and presented them.

      "The man is an idiot!" decided the exasperated Englishman. "What does he mean by offering me melon for dinner, and salt and pepper to season it?—that's like their putting sugar to their peas! I want something that I can eat," he cried, piteously.

      "Qu'est-ce que c'est que je peux vous offrir, monsieur?" asked the agonized garçon.

      "Don't you see we want something to eat," retorted the gentleman; "this lady and myself? We can't touch any of the trash on the table. Get us some mutton chops cooked."

      "Pardon, monsieur, plait-il?"

      "Some—mut—ton—chops," repeated the common-councilman, very deliberately, thinking that the slower he spoke, the better he should be understood. "And let 'em look sharp about it."

      The waiter sighed and shrugged, and, after pushing the bread and butter and young onions within reach, moved away, giving up the matter as a hopeless job.

      "Let's peg away at this till the chops come," cried Mr. Dundyke. And in the fallacious hope that the chops were coming, did the unconscious couple "peg" away till the driver clacked his long whip, and summoned his passengers to resume their seats in the diligence.

      "I have had nothing to eat," screamed Mr. Dundyke. "They are doing me some mutton chops. I can't go yet."

      "Deux diners, quatre francs, une bouteille de vin, trente sous," said the waiter in Mr. Dundyke's ear. "Fait cinq francs, cinquante, monsieur."

      "Fetch my mutton chops," he implored; "we can't go without them: we can eat them in the diligence."

      "Allons! dépêchons-nous, messieurs et dames," interrupted the conductor, looking in, impatiently. "Prenez vos places. Nous sommes en retard."

      "They are swindlers, every soul of them, in this country," raved the common-councilman, passionately throwing down the money, when he could be made to comprehend its amount, and that there were no chops to come. "How dare you be so dishonest as charge for dinners we don't eat."

      "I am faint now for the want of something," bewailed poor Mrs. Dundyke.

      "If ever I am caught out of Old England again," he sobbed, climbing to his place in the diligence, "I'll give 'em leave to make a Frenchman of me, that's all."

      CHAPTER III.

      A MEETING AT GRENOBLE

      They arrived at Lyons; but here Mr. Dundyke's total ignorance of the language led him into innumerable misapprehensions and mishaps, not the least of which was his going from Lyons to Grenoble, thinking all the time that he was on the shortest and most direct road to Switzerland. This was in consequence of his rubbing on with "we" and "no." They had arrived at Lyons late in the evening, and after a night's rest, Mr. Dundyke found his way to the coach-office, to take places on to Switzerland. There happened to be standing before the office door a huge diligence, with the word "Grenoble" painted on it.

      "I want to engage a place in a diligence; two places; direct for Switzerland," began Mr. Dundyke; "in a diligence like that," pointing to the great machine.

      "You spoke French, von littel, sare?" asked the clerk, who could himself speak a very little imperfect English.

      "We," cried Mr. Dundyke, eagerly, not choosing to betray his ignorance.

      Accordingly, the official proceeded to jabber on in French, and Mr. Dundyke answered at intervals of hazard "we" and "no."

      "Vous désirez aller à Grenoble, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?" remarked the clerk.

      "We," cried out Mr. Dundyke at random.

      "Combien de places, monsieur?"

      "We," repeated the gentleman again.

      "I do demande of the monsieur how few of place?" said the official, suspecting his French was not understood quite so well as it might be.

      "Two places for Switzerland," answered Mr. Dundyke. "I'm going on to Geneva, in a diligence like that."

      "C'est ça. The monsieur desire to go to Gren-haub; et encore jusqu'à Genève—on to Geneva."

      "We," rapturously responded the common-councilman.

      "I do comprends. Two place in the Gren-haub diligence. Vill the monsieur go by dat von?" pointing to the one at the door. "She do go in de half hour."

      "Not that one," retorted Mr. Dundyke, impatient at the clerk's obscure English. "I said in one like that, later."

      "Yes, sare, I comprends now. You would partir by anoder von like her, the next one that parts. Vill you dat I retienne two place for Gren-haub?"

      "We, we," responded Mr. Dundyke. "Two places. My wife's with me, Mrs. D.: I'm a common-councilman, sir, at home. Two places for Gren-haub. Corner ones, mind: in the interior."

      "C'est bien, monsieur. She goes à six of de hours."

      "She! Who?"

      "The diligence, I do say."

      "Oh," said the common-councilman to himself, "they call coaches 'she's' in this country. I wonder what they call women. Six hours you say we shall take going."

      "Oui, monsieur," answered the clerk, without quite understanding the question, "il faut venir СКАЧАТЬ