And here comes tea and coffee—­may as well have some, I suppose it will be all the same price.  And what’s this?” eyeing a lot of liqueur glasses full of eau de vie.  “Chasse-cafe, Monsieur,” said the garcon.  “Chasse calf—­chasse calf—­what’s that?  Oh, I twig—­what we call ‘shove in the mouth’ at the Free-and-Easy.  Yes, certainly, give me a glass.”  “You shall take some dessert,” said the Countess, handing him over some peaches and biscuits.  “Well, I’ll try my hand at it, if it will oblege your ladyship, but I really have had almost enough.”  “And some abricot,” said she, helping him to a couple of fine juicy ones.  “Oh, thank you, my lady, thank you, my lady, I’m nearly satisfied.”  “Vous ne mangez pas,” said she, giving him half a plate of grapes.  “Oh, my lady, you don’t understand me—­I can’t eat any more—­I am regularly high and dry—­chock full—­bursting, in fact.”  Here she handed him a plate of sponge-cakes mixed with bon-bons and macaroons, saying, “Vous etes un pauvre mangeur—­vous ne mangez rien, Monsieur.”  “Oh dear, she does not understand me, I see.—­Indeed, my lady, I cannot eat any more.—­Ge woudera, se ge could-era, mais ge can-ne-ra pas!” “Well, now, I’ve travelled three hundred thousand miles, and never heard such a bit of French as that before,” said the fat man, chuckling.

IX.  MR. JORROCKS IN PARIS

As the grey morning mist gradually dispersed, and daylight began to penetrate the cloud that dimmed the four squares of glass composing the windows of the diligence, the Yorkshireman, half-asleep and half-awake, took a mental survey of his fellow-travellers.—­Before him sat his worthy friend, snoring away with his mouth open, and his head, which kept bobbing over on to the shoulder of the Countess, enveloped in the ample folds of a white cotton nightcap.—­She, too, was asleep and, disarmed of all her daylight arts, dozed away in tranquil security.  Her mouth also was open, exhibiting rather a moderate set of teeth, and her Madonna front having got a-twist, exposed a mixture of brown and iron-grey hairs at the parting place.  Her bonnet swung from the roof of the diligence, and its place was supplied by a handsome lace cap, fastened under her chin by a broad-hemmed cambric handkerchief.  Presently the sun rose, and a bright ray shooting into the Countess’s corner, awoke her with a start, and after a hurried glance at the passengers, who appeared to be all asleep, she drew a small ivory-cased looking-glass from her bag, and proceeded to examine her features.  Mr. Jorrocks awoke shortly after, and with an awful groan exclaimed that his backbone was fairly worn out with sitting.  “Oh dear!” said he, “my behind aches as if I had been kicked all the way from Hockleyhole to Marylebone.  Are we near Paris? for I’m sure I can’t find seat any longer, indeed I can’t.  I’d rather ride two hundred miles in nine hours, like H’osbaldeston, than be shut up in this woiture another hour.