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'Hola, Pig! cried Rigaud, with a noisy stimulating cry, as if Cavalletto were an Italian horse or mule. 'What! The infernal old jail was a respectable one to this. There was dignity in the bars and stones of that place. It was a prison for men. But this? Bah! A hospital for imbeciles!
Monsieur Rigaud arose, lighted a cigarette, put the rest of his stock into a breast-pocket, and stretched himself out at full length upon the bench. Cavalletto sat down on the pavement, holding one of his ankles in each hand, and smoking peacefully.
In his passionate raptures, he at first forgot the fact that he had lately seen the assassin in London. On his remembering it, it suggested hope to Clennam that the recognition might be of later date than the night of the visit at his mother's; but Cavalletto was too exact and clear about time and place, to leave any opening for doubt that it had preceded that occasion.
Monsieur Rigaud, after indulging in a fit of laughter, descended from his throne, saying, 'Good! I go to seek an hotel! But, there his eyes encountered Cavalletto, who was still at his post. 'Come, Pig, he added, 'I have had you for a follower against my will; now, I'll have you against yours. I tell you, my little reptiles, I am born to be served.
John Baptist, staring at him with eyes opened to their utmost width, made a number of those national, backhanded shakes of the right forefinger in the air, as if he were resolved on negativing beforehand everything that the other could possibly advance during the whole term of his life. 'Cavalletto! Give me your hand. You know Lagnier, the gentleman. Touch the hand of a gentleman!
Seeing this, his old prison comrade fell back upon the door, and set his shoulders against it. 'Cavalletto! Wake, boy! Rub your eyes and look at me. Not the name you used to call me don't use that Lagnier, say Lagnier!
Have I my commodity on sale, for that? Bah, poor debtor! You have interrupted my little project. Let it pass. How then? What remains? To you, nothing; to me, all. Produce me! Is that what you want? I will produce myself, only too quickly. Contrabandist! Give me pen, ink, and paper. Cavalletto got up again as before, and laid them before him in his former manner.
'The last time I heard it, returned Arthur, 'was in a voice quite the reverse of pretty, and quite the reverse of innocent. He said it more to himself than to his companion, and added to himself, repeating the man's next words. 'Death of my life, sir, it's my character to be impatient! 'EH! cried Cavalletto, astounded, and with all his colour gone in a moment. 'What is the matter? 'Sir!
I am a citizen of the world. His theatrical air, as he stood with one arm on his hip within the folds of his cloak, together with his manner of disregarding his companion and addressing the opposite wall instead, seemed to intimate that he was rehearsing for the President, whose examination he was shortly to undergo, rather than troubling himself merely to enlighten so small a person as John Baptist Cavalletto.
Cavalletto had deferentially suggested the words and tune, supposing him to have stopped short for want of more. 'Ah! You know the song, Cavalletto? 'By Bacchus, yes, sir! They all know it in France. I have heard it many times, sung by the little children.
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