Крихітка Дорріт

Chapter 22. Who passes by this Road so late?

           

           ‘Ah!Youknowthesong,Cavalletto?’

           ‘ByBacchus,yes,sir!TheyallknowitinFrance.Ihavehearditmanytimes,sungbythelittlechildren.ThelasttimewhenitIhaveheard,’saidMrBaptist,formerlyCavalletto,whousuallywentbacktohisnativeconstructionofsentenceswhenhismemorywentnearhome,‘isfromasweetlittlevoice.Alittlevoice,verypretty,veryinnocent.Altro!’

           ‘ThelasttimeIheardit,’returnedArthur,‘wasinavoicequitethereverseofpretty,andquitethereverseofinnocent.’Hesaiditmoretohimselfthantohiscompanion,andaddedtohimself,repeatingtheman’snextwords.‘Deathofmylife,sir,it’smycharactertobeimpatient!’

           ‘EH!’criedCavalletto,astounded,andwithallhiscolourgoneinamoment.

           ‘Whatisthematter?’

           ‘Sir!YouknowwhereIhaveheardthatsongthelasttime?’

           Withhisrapidnativeaction,hishandsmadetheoutlineofahighhooknose,pushedhiseyesneartogether,dishevelledhishair,puffedouthisupperliptorepresentathickmoustache,andthrewtheheavyendofanidealcloakoverhisshoulder.Whiledoingthis,withaswiftnessincredibletoonewhohasnotwatchedanItalianpeasant,heindicatedaveryremarkableandsinistersmile.Thewholechangepassedoverhimlikeaflashoflight,andhestoodinthesameinstant,paleandastonished,beforehispatron.

           ‘InthenameofFateandwonder,’saidClennam,‘whatdoyoumean?DoyouknowamanofthenameofBlandois?’

           ‘No!’saidMrBaptist,shakinghishead.

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