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" Little Dorrit. ‘ Sleep through the night i
m -V LITTLE." DOIBRIT. . 5 . I
a. pervading’ consciousness of affliction.‘ ' Sleep, good
It was a. moonlight night ; but the moon rose late, be‘
ing long past the full. ‘Vhen it was high in the peace-‘
ful firmament, it shone through" half-closedlattice blinds
into the solemnrooin where the stumblings and wander-
ings of "a life had so 'lately.- ended.‘ Two quietifigures
were within the‘rooni ;-two ,figures',z equally still and
iinpassive, equally removed by an untraversable distance
from the teeming earth‘and all that it: contains, though
soontolieinit. ' ‘ ‘ - 2 -.19.‘
- One figureireposed upon the bed. ' ,The other, kneeling
on the fioor, drooped over it ;‘ the arms easily:and peace-
fully restingon the coverlet ; the face bowed down, so
that the lips touched the hand over which with its last
breathtithad bent. F The.two' brothers were before their
Father;:v far .: beyond the twilightF?judg-mcnts : ofsthis
world; high above its mists and obscurities.$ S i ' E . I
x
A
’ TCHA?T'ER>.XX-‘ I I :f it?
. “Introduces the V1V"ea:t.
Tilnpassengers‘ were landingifrom the packet "on the .
pier at Calais. ,A'Ioiv-lying place! and 'a low-‘spirited
place Calais was, with the tide ebbing ,out‘towards low -,
watar-mark. 1’ There had been no more water on the bar
than had sufiice'd'to'float‘the’ packet in ; and now the bar
itself; with alshallow break of sea over it,‘ looked -like a
lazy‘ marine monster just risen to the surface, whose form
was indistinctly shown as ‘it ‘ lay asleep. I‘ The meagre
lighthouse’ all in white. haunting the.seaboard, as if i it
were the ghost of an Iedifice. that had‘on'ce had colour
and rotundity, dripped melancholy itears afterits late
bufieting by the‘waves.' The long rows of gaunt black
piles, slimy and wet and weather-wom, with funeral '
- garlands of seaweed twisted about themby the late tide,
might have represented an unsightly. marine cemetery.
Every wave-dashed,’ storm-beaten object, fwas so low and
so little, under thebroadgrey sky, in the ‘noise of the
wind and sea, and before the curling lines of surf, mak-
ing at it ferociously, that the wonder was there was any
Calais left.’ and that its low gates and low wall and low
a roofs and low ditches and low sand-hills and low ramparts
and fiatstreets, hadnot yielded long. ago to the‘ under-
mining and besieging sea, like the fortifications children
make on‘the sea-shore. ' ‘ . , " ‘ ‘ .. 5, ' ‘ 7
After slipping among oozy piles and planks, stumbling
up wet steps and encountering many salt difiiculties, the
passengers enteredi on their comfortless peregrination
along the,pier; where all.the French vagabonds and
English outlaws inthe town: (half the population)‘at-
tended ? to prevent their :recovery from bewilderment.
After being minutely inspected by all‘ the English, and
claimed and reclaimed and counter-claimed as prizes by
all the French,‘ in a hand-to-hand scuffle three quarters
of a mile long, they were at last free to enter the streets,
‘and to make off intheir various directions,‘ hotly pur-
suedik.‘ ' L ’
Clennam, harrassed bymore anxieties than one, was
among this devoted band. Having rescued the most de-
fenceless . of ‘ his compatriots from :situations’ of great
extremity; he now. WeIlt'hlS wayalone; <3i',8Sv119=1T13" 3"
alone as he could be, with a native gentleman .in a suit
of grease and a. cap of the same material, giving chase at a
distanceof some fifty yards,,and continually calling after 2
him ‘.‘Hi ! Ice-say I You! 7 Sect 1; V Ice-‘say i ‘ Nice
Oatell” . i’ 7 7.
' Even this hospitable person, however. was left behind
at last, and Clennam pursued.his. way, .unmolested.
There was a tranquil airin the town afterthe turbulence
of the ‘Channel and "the beach, and ’its‘dulness in that
comparison was agreeable. He met new gi;oups' of his
countrymen, who had all a. straggling air of having at
one tiineover-blown themselves, like certain uncomfort-
ablekinds of flowers, andiof being, now, mere" weeds.
’ They had all an air, too, of lounging out a limited round,
day after day, which strongly reminded him of the Mar-
shalsca. But,‘ taking no further note of ‘them than was
sufficient to give birth to the reflection, he sought
899
out a ceitainlstreet. and n'umber,,which he kept in his
min. ‘ I
‘5 So" Pancks said,” he. murmured to- himself, as’ he
stopped before adull house answering to the address. :.“. I
suppose his information to be correctrand his discover ,‘
among Mr. Casby’s loose papers, indisputable ; but, wit 1-
out it, I should hardly have supposed this to he a likely
lace.’.’x. ’ ,- ' .. ' .
P A dead sort" of house, with‘a dead ..wall, over’ the way
and a dead gateway‘ at the side, where in pendant bell-
handle produced two dead tinkles, and a knocker. produced
a dead, fiat, . surface-tapping; that. seemed .: not. to :have
depth enou h ‘in it to. penetrate even: the cracked door;
However, ’t e doorjarred open on a'dead sort of spring;
and he closedvit behind him as .he entered a dull yard,
soon brought to a close at the baclrby another dead wall,
where 'a'n‘attempt‘had been made to train some creeping
shrubs, which were dead ; and to make a little fountain
in agrotto, [which was dry ; and to decorate that with 9.
little statue, which was gone. ' .1 , . , . , .
Thezentryto the hoiise,’,was'on thegleft, and it was
garnished as the outer gatew‘a.y.was, with ; two printed
bills in Fren'cli’and English, announcing Furnished Apart-
ments to lot, with immediate possession. A strong cheer-
ful peasant. woman, all stocking, petticoat,'W11it9 C119.
and ear-ring, stood here in a" dark Jioorway, and said
with apleasant show of teeth, “. lee-say! Seer! W'bo?"
.“ Clennam,‘ replying in French, said the English lady :
he wished .to see.the,Eng1ish lady, . “Enter then, and
ascend, if you please,” returned the peasantwoman, in
Fre'nch'Iikewise.‘. 1 He did b’oth,uand :followed her up a
dark staircase to a. back room entire first fioor.’ Hence,
there was a gloomy.view.of the yard that was dull, and
ofthe shrubs‘ that were dead, and of the ‘fountain that
‘was‘dry,' and of the pedestal of Ethezstatuethat was
one. -.
g “ Monsieur Blandois,” said Clennam. n '
“ VVith pleasure, Monsieur.”:i.f; ;' t - , . , ‘ .
Thereuponthe woman ‘withdrew, and left him to look
at the room.I.;It was the "pattern of .room always to be
found in sucliahouse‘ .Cool,.dull, a.nd.dark. ' :“'axed
fioorvery slippery. Aroornlnot large enough to skate in ;
not adapted to the easy pursuit of anyjother occupation;
Red and white curtained windows, little straw rnat, little
round table w th a tumultuous assemblage of legs under-
neath, clumsy rush-buttoned chairs, two great red. velvet
armchairs affording plenty of space to be uncomfortable
in, bureau, chimney-glass in several pieces pretending to
be in one piece, pair. of gaudy:vases of ver artificial
flowers; between them a Greek warrio1','with. is helmet
off, sacrificing a. clock to the Genius ofIFrance. ,
After some pause, a door of communication with an-
other room was opened;i1ndr a. lady. entered. . , She mani-
fested great surprise on seein Clennam,'. and her glance
went round the room in searc i of some one else.; .
“Pardon nie,?MisJs lVnde.' (I am al'one.”.
“ It was not your name that was brought to me.”
.". No ;. I know that. I" Excuse rue- .I have already had
experience that my name does not predispose you to an
interview ;'and .1, ventured tovmention the name of one I
am in search of. , ‘ ' ' - ' , ' ’
“Pray,” she returned, motioningthim toia chair so
coldly that'he' remained standing, ‘fwhat name..was it
thatyougave‘Z”'v. V ;zj .. -m I '
“ I mentioned the name of Blandois."
? ‘‘Blandois'?’’.. ;. .-I ' ' ,
"‘ A.'name you are acquainted with..”' , ’ : L '
,‘.', It is strange,’.’. she salrl,:frowning, ,-‘.‘,thnt you should
stil1Tpress an undesired interestin me and .my acquaint-
ances, in'me and my ailairs, Mr. Clennam. ‘I don’t know
what you mean.” I N? I -''=-‘ i“ '-' V" V
- .:.‘‘.Pardon me. You know the name?” , : .1,’ :
“.lVhat canyon have to do with the name 1 VVhat can
I.have to do with the name? ' “’hat can you rave to do
witlrmy knowing or not knowing any name? Iknow
many names and I have forgotten many more.‘ This
may be in one class, or it may be in the, other; or I may
never have heard it. I am acquainted with no reason
for examining myself,- or for being examined, about it.”
“ If you will allowme,” said Clennam, f‘ I will tell you
my reason for pressing the subject. ‘I admit that I do
press it, and I must beg you to forgive me if I do so,
i
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