She cast about to say something; her last
words had been of hope deferred--it would not do to take up her
speech there . . .
The Admiral seemed to meet her eyes with an effort. He put out a hand.
"It is not good, Mademoiselle, that a man should pity himself. Beware
how you teach that; beware how you listen to him then."
He turned from her abruptly and tottered away. Glancing aside, she met
the Vicomte de Tocqueville's tired smile; he was using his cane to
prod the butcher and recall his attention to the half-cut steak. But
the butcher continued to stare down the street.
"Eh? But, dear me, it sounds like an _emeute_," said the Vicomte,
negligently; at the same time stepping to Dorothea's side.
The murmur of the crowd in front of "The Dogs" had been swelling, and
now broke into sharp, angry cries for a moment; then settled into a
dull roar, and rose in a hoarse _crescendo_. The mail coach was
evidently not the centre of disturbance, though Dorothea could see its
driver waving his arm and gesticulating from the box. The noise came
ahead of it, some twenty yards lower down the hill, where the street
had suddenly grown black with people pressing and swaying.
"There seems no danger here, whatever it is," said the Vicomte,
glancing up at the house-front above.
"Please go and see what is the matter. I am safe enough," Dorothea
assured him. "The folks in the house will give me shelter, if
necessary.
Pages:
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75