“‘And where am I now?’ said I.

“‘In Lyons,’ said twenty voices, half choked with laughter at my question.

“I was thunderstruck at the news at first; but as I proceeded with my dinner, I joined in the mirth of the party, which certainly was not diminished on my telling them the object of my intended journey.

“‘I think, young man,’ said the old fellow with the spectacles, ’that you should take the occurrence as a warning of Providence that marriage will not suit you.’  I began to be of the same opinion;—­but then there was the jointure.  To be sure, I was to give up tobacco; and perhaps I should not be as free to ramble about as when en garcon.  So taking all things into consideration, I ordered in another bottle of burgundy, to drink Mrs. Ram’s health—­got my passport vised for Barege—­and set out for the Pyrenees the same evening.”

“And have you never heard any thing more of the lady?” said Mrs. Bingham.

“Oh, yes.  She was faithful to the last; for I found out when at Rome last winter that she had offered a reward for me in the newspapers, and indeed had commenced a regular pursuit of me through the whole continent.  And to tell the real fact, I should not now fancy turning my steps towards Paris, if I had not very tolerable information that she is in full cry after me through the Wengen Alps, I having contrived a paragraph in Galignani, to seduce her thither, and where, with the blessing of Providence, if the snow set in early, she must pass the winter.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

Paris.

Nothing more worthy of recording occurred before our arrival at Meurice on the third day of our journey.  My friend O’Leary had, with his usual good fortune, become indispensable to his new acquaintance, and it was not altogether without some little lurking discontent that I perceived how much less often my services were called in request since his having joined our party; his information, notwithstanding its very scanty extent, was continually relied upon, and his very imperfect French everlastingly called into requisition to interpret a question for the ladies.  Yes, thought I, “Othello’s occupation’s gone;” one of two things has certainly happened, either Mrs. Bingham and her daughter have noticed my continued abstraction of mind, and have attributed it to the real cause, the pre-occupation of my affections; or thinking, on the other hand, that I am desperately in love with one or other of them, have thought that a little show of preference to Mr. O’Leary may stimulate me to a proposal at once.  In either case I resolved to lose no time in taking my leave, which there could be no difficulty in doing now, as the ladies had reached their intended destination, and had numerous friends in Paris to advise and assist them; besides that I had too long neglected the real object of my trip, and should lose no time in finding out the Callonbys, and at once learn what prospect of success awaited me in that quarter.  Leaving my fair friends then to refresh themselves after the journey, and consigning Mr. O’Leary to the enjoyment of his meershaum, through the aid of which he had rendered his apartment like a Dutch swamp in autumn, the only portion of his own figure visible through the mist being his short legs and heavy shoes.