to and fro； and necessarily crossed at every turn。 Monsieur Rigaud
sometimes stopped； as if he were going to put his case in a new light；
or make some irate remonstrance； but Signor Cavalletto continuing to
go slowly to and fro at a grotesque kind of jog…trot pace with his eyes
turned downward； nothing came of these inclinings。
By…and…by the noise of the key in the lock arrested them both。 The sound
of voices succeeded； and the tread of feet。 The door clashed； the voices
and the feet came on； and the prison…keeper slowly ascended the stairs；
followed by a guard of soldiers。
'Now； Monsieur Rigaud；' said he； pausing for a moment at the grate； with
his keys in his hands； 'have the goodness to e out。'
'I am to depart in state； I see？' 'Why； unless you did；' returned the
jailer； 'you might depart in so many pieces that it would be difficult
to get you together again。 There's a crowd； Monsieur Rigaud； and it
doesn't love you。'
He passed on out of sight； and unlocked and unbarred a low door in the
corner of the chamber。 'Now；' said he； as he opened it and appeared
within； 'e out。'
There is no sort of whiteness in all the hues under the sun at all like
the whiteness of Monsieur Rigaud's face as it was then。 Neither is there
any expression of the human countenance at all like that expression in
every little line of which the frightened heart is seen to beat。 Both
are conventionally pared with death； but the difference is the whole
deep gulf between the struggle done； and the fight at its most desperate
extremity。
He lighted another of his paper cigars at his panion's； put it
tightly between his teeth； covered his head with a soft slouched hat；
threw the end of his cloak over his shoulder again； and walked out into
the side gallery on which the door opened； without taking any further
notice of Signor Cavalletto。 As to that little man himself； his whole
attention had bee absorbed in getting near the door and looking out
at it。 Precisely as a beast might approach the opened gate of his den
and eye the freedom beyond； he passed those few moments in watching and
peering； until the door was closed upon him。
There was an officer in mand of the soldiers； a stout； serviceable；
profoundly calm man； with his drawn sword in his hand； smoking a cigar。
He very briefly directed the placing of Monsieur Rigaud in the midst of
the party； put himself with consummate indifference at their head； gave
the word 'march！' and so they all went jingling down the staircase。 The
door clashed……the key turned……and a ray of unusual light； and a breath
of unusual air； seemed to have passed through the jail； vanishing in a
tiny wreath of smoke from the cigar。
Still； in his captivity； like a lower animal……like some impatient ape；
or roused bear of the smaller species……the prisoner； now left solitary；
had jumped upon the ledge； to lose no glimpse of this departure。 As he
yet stood clasping the grate with both hands； an uproar broke upon his
hearing； yells； shrieks； oaths； threats； execrations； all prehended
in it； though （as in a storm） nothing but a raging swell of sound
distinctly heard。
Excited into a still greater resemblance to a caged wild animal by his
anxiety to know more； the prisoner leaped nimbly down； ran round the
chamber； leaped nimbly up again； clasped the grate and tried to shake
it； leaped down and ran； leaped up and listened； and never rested until
the noise； being more and more distant； had died away。 How many
better prisoners have worn their noble hearts out so； no man thinking
of it； not even the beloved of their souls realising it； great kings
and governors； who had made them captive； careering in the sunlight
jauntily； and men cheering them on。 Even the said great personages dying
in bed； making exemplary ends and sounding speeches； and polite history；
more servile than their instruments； embalming them！
At last； John Baptist； now able to choose his own spot within the
pass of those walls for the exercise of his faculty of going to sleep
when he would； lay down upon the bench； with his face turned over on his
crossed arms； and slumbered。 In his submission； in his lightness； in his
good humour； in his short…lived passion； in his easy contentment with
hard bread and hard stones； in his ready sleep； in his fits and starts；
altogether a true son of the land that gave him birth。
The wide stare stared itself out for one while； the Sun went down in
a red； green； golden glory； the stars came out in the heavens； and the
fire…flies mimicked them in the lower air； as men may feebly imitate
the goodness of a better order of beings； the long dusty roads and the
interminable plains were in repose……and so deep a hush was on the sea；
that it scarcely whispered of the time when it shall give up its dead。
CHAPTER 2 Fellow Travellers
'No more of yesterday's howling over yonder to…day； Sir； is there？'
'I have heard none。'
'Then you may be sure there is none。 When these people howl； they howl
to be heard。'
'Most people do； I suppose。'
'Ah！ but these people are always howling。 Never happy otherwise。'
'Do you mean the Marseilles people？'
'I mean the French people。 They're always at it。 As to Marseilles； we
know what Marseilles is。 It sent the most insurrectionary tune into the
world that was ever posed。 It couldn't exist without allonging and
marshonging to something or other……victory or death； or blazes； or
something。'
The speaker； with a whimsical good humour upon him all the time； looked
over the parapet…wall with the greatest disparagement of Marseilles； and
taking up a determined position by putting his hands in his pockets and
rattling his money at it； apostrophised it with a short laugh。
'Allong and marshong； indeed。 It would be more creditable to you；
I think； to let other people allong and marshong about their lawful
business； instead of shutting 'em up in quarantine！'
'Tiresome enough；' said the other。 'But we shall be out to…day。'
'Out to…day！' repeated the first。 'It's almost an aggravation of the
enormity； that we shall be out to…day。 Out！ What have we ever been in
for？'
'For no very strong reason； I must say。 But as we e from the East；
and as the East is the country of the plague……'
'The plague！' repeated the other。 'That's my grievance。 I have had the
plague continually； ever since I have been here。 I am like a sane man
shut up in a madhouse； I can't stand the suspicion of the thing。 I came
here as well as ever I was in my life； but to suspect me of the plague
is to give me the plague。 And I have had it……and I have got it。'
'You bear it very well； Mr Meagles；' said the second speaker； smiling。
'No。 If you knew the real state of the case； that's the last observation
you would think of making。 I have been waking up night after night； and
saying； NOW I have got it； NOW it has developed itself； NOW I am in for
it； NOW these fellows are making out their case for their precautions。
Why； I'd as soon have a spit put through me； and be stuck upon a card in
a collection of beetles； as lead the life I have been leading here。'
'Well； Mr Meagles； say no more about it now it's over；' urged a cheerful
feminine voice。
'Over！' repeated Mr Meagles； who appeared （though without any
ill…nature） to be in that peculiar state of mind in which the last word
spoken by anybody else is a new injury。 'Over！ and why should I say no
more about it because it's over？'
It was Mrs Meagles who had spoken to Mr Meagles； and Mrs Meagles was；
like Mr Meagles； ely and healthy； with a pleasant English face which
had been looking at homely things for five…and…fifty years or more； and
shone with a bright reflection of them。
'There！ Never mind； Father； never mind！' said Mrs Meagles。 'For goodness
sake content yourself with Pet。'
'With Pet？' repeated Mr Meagles in his injured vein。 Pet； however；
being close behind him； touched him on the shoulder； and Mr Meagles
immediately forgave Marseilles from the bottom of his heart。
Pet was about twenty。 A fair girl with rich brown hair hanging free in
natural ringlets。 A lovely girl； with a frank face； and wonderful eyes；
so large； so soft； so bright； set to such perfection in her kind good
head。 She was round and fresh and dimpled and spoilt； and there was in
Pet an air of timidity and dependence which was the best weakness in
the world； and gave her the only crowning charm a girl so pretty and
pleasant could have been without。
'Now； I ask you；' said Mr Meagles in the blandest confidence； falling
back a step himself； and handing his daughter a step forward to
illustrate his question： 'I ask you simply； as between man and man；
you know； DID you ever hear of such damned nonsense as putting Pet in
quarantine？'
'It has had the result of making even quarantine enjoyable。' 'e！'
said Mr Meagles； 'that's something to be sure。 I am obliged to you for
that remark。 Now； Pet； my darling； you had better go along with Mother
and get ready for the boat。 The officer of health； and a variety of
humbugs in cocked hats； are ing off to let us out of this at last：
and all we jail…birds are to breakfast together in something approaching
to a Christian style again； before we take wing for our different
destinations。 Tattycoram； stick you close to your young mistress。'
He spoke to a handsome girl with lustrous dark hair and eyes； and very
neatly dressed； who replied with a half curtsey as she passed off in the
train of Mrs Meagles and Pet。 They crossed the bare scorched terrace
all three together； and disappeared through a staring white archway。
Mr Meagles's panion； a grave dark man of forty； still stood looking
towards this archway after they were gone； until Mr Meagles tapped him
on the arm。
'I beg your pardon；' said he； starting。
'Not at all；' said Mr Meagles。
They took one silent turn backward and forward in the shade of the wall；
getting； at the height on which the quarantine barracks are placed； what
cool refreshment of sea breeze there was at seven in the morning。 Mr
Meagles's panion resumed the conversation。
'May I ask you；' he said； 'what is the name of……'
'Tattycoram？' Mr Meagles struck in。 'I have not the least idea。'
'I thought；' said the other； 'that……'
'Tattycoram？' suggested Mr Meagles again。
'Thank you……that Tattycoram was a name； and I have several times
wondered at the oddity of it。'
'Why； the fact is；' said Mr Meagles； 'Mrs Meagles and myself are； you
see； practical people。'
'That you have frequently mentioned in the course of the agreeable and
interesting conversations we have had together； walking up and down on
these stones；' said the other； with a half smile breaking through the
gravity of his dark face。
'Practical people。 So one day； five or six years ago now； when we took
Pet to church at the Foundling……you have heard of the Foundling Hospital
in London？ Similar to the Institution for the Found Children in Paris？'
'I have seen it。'
'Well！ One day when we took Pet to church there to hear the
music……because； as practical people； it is the business of our lives to
show her everything that we think can please her……Mother （my usual name
for Mrs Meagles） began to cry so； that it was necessary to take her