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Updated: June 6, 2025
"The police-inspector has just now given orders, that the double chain of the panther, and the iron ring riveted to the floor of the stage, at the end of the cavern in the foreground, shall be again examined; and everything has been reported quite secure." "Yes secure except for me," murmured the beast-tamer. "So, M. Morok, the signal may be given?" "The signal may be given," replied Morok.
This grotesque representative of the cholera was Sleepinbuff. Notwithstanding a slow and dangerous fever, caused by the excessive use of brandy, and by constant debauchery, that was silently undermining his constitution, Jacques Rennepont had been induced by Morok to join the masquerade.
At this moment, the stage-manager entered the room, and interrupted the beast-tamer. "May we give the signal, M. Morok?" said the stage-manager. "The overture will not last above ten minutes." "I am ready," said Morok.
Sleepinbuff found the John Bull's idea so amusingly eccentric, that, for the first time since a very long period, he burst into a peal of hearty laughter. Morok, pale with rage, rushed towards him with so menacing an air, that Goliath was obliged to interpose. "Come, come," said Jacques, "don't be angry; if it is serious, I will not laugh any more."
The burning beverage was then placed upon the table, to the great joy of the guests, who began to forget their past alarms. "Now," said Jacques to Morok, in a taunting tone, "while the punch is burning, we will have our duel. The company shall judge." Then, pointing to the two bottles of brandy, which the waiter had brought, Jacques added: "Choose your weapon!" "Do you choose," answered Morok.
"What! you dare to say," cried the burgomaster, stammering with rage, "that if I happen to mention two adventuresses " "Hats off! when you speak of the daughters of the Duke of Ligny," cried the soldier, snatching the cap of the burgomaster and flinging it on the ground. On this act of aggression, Morok could not restrain his joy.
At sight of the repulsive countenance of the lion-tamer, Rose and Blanche, affrighted, drew back a step nearer to the soldier. The brow of the latter grew dark, for he felt his blood boil against Morok, the cause of all his difficulties though he was yet ignorant that Goliath, at the instigation of the Prophet, had stolen his portfolio and papers.
In his capacity of your reverence's old servant, Morok hoped to have the honor of kissing your hand this evening." "Impossible impossible you know how much I am occupied. Have you sent to the Rue Saint-Francois?" "Yes, I have. The old Jew guardian has had notice from the notary.
"Hooray, for a fight!" cried the crowd in chorus. "To the factory, my brave Wolves!" cried Morok, with the voice of a Stentor; "on to the factory!" "Yes! to the factory! to the factory!" repeated the crowd, with furious stamping; for, little by little, all who could force their way into the room, or up the stairs, had there collected together.
Morok did not even knit his brow; his marble face remained impassible; with a steady hand he replaced his glass upon the table. But Jacques, as he put down his glass, could not conceal a slight convulsive trembling, caused by internal suffering. "Bravely done!" cried Ninny Moulin. "The quarter of a bottle of brandy at a draught it is glorious! No one else here would be capable of such prowess.
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