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Updated: May 21, 2025
Having had an escape, as my friend Whistlewick said, "with a squeak" for my life, I innocently fancied that I should have been an object of considerable interest to Parisian society; but, a good deal to my mortification, I discovered that I was the object of a good-natured but contemptuous merriment. I was a balourd, a benet, un ane, and figured even in caricatures.
"That certainly is a most singular case," I replied, and was about to ask a question or two, when Tom Whistlewick who, without my observing it, had been taking a ramble, returned, a great deal more awake, and a great deal less tipsy. "I say, Carmaignac, it is getting late, and I must go; I really must, for the reason I told you and, Beckett, we must soon meet again."
There were now added to the general chorus two voices, very different in quality; one was that of the gasconading Colonel Gaillarde, who had with difficulty been kept in the background up to this; the other was that of my jolly friend Whistlewick, who had come to identify me. I shall tell you, just now, how this project against my property and life, so ingenious and monstrous, was exploded.
It would not have taken much to make me disclose my unmanly state of mind to my lively friend Alfred Ogle, nor even to the milder ridicule of the agreeable Tom Whistlewick. There was no danger of the Dragon Volant's closing its doors on that occasion till three or four in the morning.
I was thinking within myself how utterly inexplicable was my colloquy with the conjuror, so cavalierly dismissed by Monsieur Carmaignac as a "fool"; and the more I thought the more marvelous it seemed. "It certainly was an original joke, though not a very clear one," said Whistlewick. "Not even original," said Carmaignac.
You now have the situation of affairs when the catastrophe occurred." "Pray fill your glass," I said. "Dutch courage, Monsieur, to face the catastrophe!" said Whistlewick, filling his own. "Now, that was the last that ever was heard of his money," resumed Carmaignac. "You shall hear about himself.
In some places the crowd was inconvenient, and the profusion of lights added to the heat. I removed my mask, therefore, as I saw some other people do, who were as careless of mystery as I. I had hardly done so, and began to breathe more comfortably, when I heard a friendly English voice call me by my name. It was Tom Whistlewick, of the th Dragoons.
Tom Whistlewick was in great force; and he commenced almost immediately with a very odd story. He told me that not only Versailles, but all Paris was in a ferment, in consequence of a revolting, and all but sacrilegious practical joke, played of on the night before. The pagoda, as he persisted in calling the palanquin, had been left standing on the spot where we last saw it.
So, as we pursued our way along the Galerie des Glaces, I extracted their promise. "By Jove!" said Whistlewick, when this was done; "look at that pagoda, or sedan chair, or whatever it is, just where those fellows set it down, and not one of them near it! I can't imagine how they tell fortunes so devilish well. Jack Nuffles I met him here tonight says they are gypsies where are they, I wonder?
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