Page--was obliged to parade through the mob of a market-town in
France, with four gens-d'armes for his companions, and he himself
habited in a mongrel character--half
postillion, half Delaware Indian. The incessant
yells of laughter--the screams of the children, and the outpouring
of every species of sarcasm
and ridicule, at my expense, were not all--for, as I emerged from the
porte-chochere I saw Isabella in the window: her eyes were red with
weeping; but no sooner had she beheld me, than she broke out into

a fit
of laughter that was audible

even in the street. Rage had
now taken such a hold upon me, that I forgot my ridiculous appearance
in my thirst for vengeance. I marched on through the grinning crowd,
with
the step of a martyr. I suppose my heroic bearing
and warlike deportment must have heightened the drollery of the
scene; for the devils only laughed the more. The bureau of the maire
could
not contain one-tenth of the anxious and curious individuals who
thronged the entrance, and for about twenty minutes the whole efforts
of the gens-d'armes were little enough to keep order and
maintain silence. At length the maire made his appearance, and
accustomed as he had been for a long life to scenes of an absurd and
extraordinary
nature, yet the ridicule
of my look and costume was too much, and he laughed outright.
This was of course the signal for renewed mirth for the crowd, while
those without doors, infected by the example, took up the jest, and I
had the pleasure of a short calculation, a la Babbage,
of how many maxillary jaws were at that
same moment wagging at my expense. However, the examination
commenced; and I at length obtained an opportunity of explaining
under what circumstances I had left my room, and how and why I had
been induced to don this confounded
cause of all my misery. "This may be very true," said the mayor, "as
it is very plausible; if you have evidence
to prove what you have stated--" "If it's evidence only is wanting,
Mr. Maire, I'll confirm one part
of the
story," said a voice in the crowd, in an accent and tone that assured
me the speaker was the injured proprietor of the stolen blankets. I
turned round hastily
to look at my victim, and what was my surprise to recognize a

very old Dublin acquaintance, Mr. Fitzmaurice
O'Leary. "Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer,"
said he; "this is m