University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.
CONTAINS AN ACCOUNT OF MONSIEUR GUILLEMOT'S
BANKRUPTCY.

Sansoucy stood thus for some moments, gazing after
the physician, with that wistful, almost melancholy smile,
which gave at times so singular an expression to his countenance;
and then, as though returning once more to the
realms of reality, turned round, and smiled, and patted
Ellie's head, and took his seat beside Joe Lacklitter.

One of Mr. Sansoucy's peculiarities, as we have said,
we believe, already,—or at least should have said—was a
habit of interesting himself in simple things, and unpretending
objects. He might have said, with a great writer,
“I have seen too much of success in life, to take off my
hat and huzza to it, as it passes in its gilt coach, and would
do my little part with my neighbors on foot, that they
should not gape with too much wonder, nor applaud too
loudly. It is the Lord Mayor going in state to mincepies
and the mansion-house! It is poor Jack of Newgate's
procession, with the sheriff and javelin-men, conducting
him on his journey to Tyburn? I look into my heart and
think I am as good as my Lord Mayor, and know I am
as bad as Tyburn Jack.” Sansoucy had seen so much
in his journeyings, and from that singular part of journalist,
that he had grown incredulous of the judgments which
the world formed of the men and things which figure on
the stage of life, and so making for himself an unique philosophy,
had accepted that alone to shape his conduct by.

He had seen so many reputations rise aloft like rockets,
startling the beholders, and then fade and die—so many
“celebrities” had blazed before him in his day, and then
gone out, that, young in years as he still was, life scarcely
possessed for him those mysteries and illusions, which it
has for the greater part of the world. This feeling had
driven him, as it drives every man who loves the truth, to
a fervid admiration for simplicity and goodness: and it
was in simple scenes, and honest motives, that this gentleman
found his greatest pleasure. He liked to be with
children, and would throw his pen aside, and dismiss his
wearying meditation, to cater their amusement. Their
innocent prattle pleased him, and when once this softer
influence had made itself felt, he became the most delightful
companion for the young—sharing their sports, and
growing young again himself.

Sansoucy had found in Ellie, that simplicity and goodness,
which he bowed before, saluting it as worthiest; and
thus, perhaps, there was more truth than the contrary in
his declaration, that he deserved no thanks for his assistance.
He found in the child, and in Joe Lacklitter, too,
companions such as he desired; and, perhaps, his greatest
pleasure was his visits to the humble abode of the poor
paper-carrier. The reader will judge, in due time, whether
there was not still another hidden and mysterious bond,
which drew him toward Ellie, and the child to him. But
we will not anticipate.

After the departure of Doctor Fossyl, a feeling of comparative
unrestraint and freedom was visible in the countenances

of all; and then commenced a cheerful, friendly
conversation, in which even Charley had his due part.

When Ellie looked at, or answered Mr. Sansoucy, her
face was full of a happy light, and her soft eyes beamed
with that tender gratitude, which perhaps is the most
beautiful expression of the human countenance. Ellie
had in her hand the dress which Lucia could not be prevailed
upon to receive; and this at last became the subject
of one of Mr. Sansoucy's smiling remarks.

“You liked Miss Aurelia, did you, Ellie?” he said;
“you should have seen her when she wore that dress at
the ball the other night! What a mistake young ladies
make when they suppose that gentlemen prefer them
decked out in silks and satins, pearls and diamonds!
They do not believe that men believe—the better portion—that

Or coats of cloth of gold! You see I'm quoting from
the poets, Miss. And so you liked Aurelia?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Ellie.

Mr. Sansoucy smiled, and said:

“What feature of her face struck you as the finest?”

“I did not take notice of anything, sir, very well,” Ellie
returned, “it was her goodness I liked so.”

“Then her eyes were the prominent subjects of your
admiration—were they not, Ellie?”

“Her eyes, sir?”

“Yes, I believe the eyes contain more expression than
any other portion of the face.”

“She had lovely blue eyes, I remember, sir.”

“So she has!” said Mr. Sansoucy, sighing and smiling.
“Do you know, Ellie, I am going to fall in love with Miss
Aurelia?”

“In love, sir? Oh, yes—I understand,” Ellie said,
laughing and blushing; “are you, sir?”

“Am I! There you are with your simplicity! I am
very much afraid that I have already done so, madam.
Do you approve of the match? But how I jest!” laughed
Mr. Sansoucy. “What were you doing with your dress?”

“I—I—was—Lucia was looking at it,” said Ellie, not
wishing to tell Mr. Sansoucy of her offer.

“Lucia?” he said.

“Yes, sir—the organ-grinder's daughter, who lives in
yonder—”

“An organ-grinder's daughter!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, this house is a real hive! Aunt Phillis in the
cellar—you here, Joe—Lucia yonder—and, as I live,
there 's some one walking in the room above!”

“That 's Mr. Gillymore, sir,” Joe said, “and there, he 's
a-comin' down; I heard his door jist now, as he opened it.”

As Joe spoke, steps were heard upon the stairs, and
then steps came down the stairway, and stopped at the
door of Joe's apartment.

“He 's comin' here,” said Joe.

And so it proved.

As he spoke, the door was opened slightly, a head

thrust itself through the aperture, and a polite and polished
voice uttered the monysyllable, “ha! ha!”

“Faith!” cried Sansoucy, if it isn't Guillemot!
you live here, Monsieur, mon ami! Is it possible!”

“Monsieur Sansouci!” cried the head, with a strong
French accent, and an unmistakeable emphasis upon the
latter syllable of the journalist's name. “I 'ave ze
plaizir of see Monsieur Sansoucí!”

“Certainly,” said Sansoucy, laughing. Come in—we 're
all friends.”

Monsieur Guillemot opened the door and entered, bowing
and shrugging his shoulders, with a profusion of polite
exclamations. He was a little man, of about forty-five or
fifty, wore a wig elaborately powdered, exhibited a profusion
of frill at his bosom, and his feet were covered with
list slippers of the gaudiest appearance. One hand was
thrust into a boot, which Monsieur Guillemot had apparently
been cleaning; the other now pressed the heart of
the owner of the boot, and waved itself politely in general
salutation.

“Sainte Marïe!” cried Monsieur Guillemot, as he
entered and received a cordial shake of Sansoucy's hand;
“I see my friend Mossier Sansoucí! Ha! ha! ze worl'
is strange—bien etrange!”

“What 's strange, my dear friend?” said Sansoucy.

“To come so on one friend—one ver' good friend!
nevare sink to—”

“Well, my dear fellow,” said Sansoucy, “no matter
what you think; the world is full of surprises—a fact I
need not take the trouble to prove to Monsieur Guillemot.”

“Mon Dieu c'est vrai!” replied the old Frenchman,
shaking his head, and consequently his foot.

“Who would have thought to see the elegant Monsieur
Guillemot, maitre d'armes at the shooting and fencing
gallery, in slippers—like an ordinary man! It's positively
amazing!” said Sansoucy.

This turn of the conversation seemed to please and
interest Monsieur Guillemot, and he evidently appreciated
the adjective “elegant,” to its full extent.

“Non non Monsieur,” he said, shaking his head and
shrugging his shoulders; “I was elegant long time ago—
I was garçon, beau garçon, my friends say. But all that
is pass, mossieu; I grow veillard.”

“You, Monsieur Guillemot! you astonish me. You
are still a beau—and I often hear my friends of a certain
age say that not ten years ago you were quite a child
and kept the best and most elegant establishment in
town.”

“Ah oui!” cried Monsieur Guillemot, “I was young
once; and I keep one ver fine house. I 'ave dominoes,
I 'ave cafe—I 'ave canoees back duck—deliceuse! I 'ave
faisant, I 'ave oystare—I 'ave de canoees back duck, mos
delicieuse—Oh! delicieuse! delicieuse! mossieu!”

And Monsieur Guillemot shrugged his shoulders and
closed his eyes in ecstacy.

“That was in the good old days, was it not?” said Sansoucy,
smiling; “you got tired of that life, eh? Late
hours, and so on.”

“I tire!” cried Monsieur Guillemot, “Oh, non! non,
Mossieu Sansouci: I break!

And the old Frenchman's head sank, and with it the
foot—a melancholy shadow passing over his countenance.

“I no get tire, Mossieu!” he said, mournfully, but
with a fantastic sort of resignation which made his countenance
a pleasant sight to see. “I no get tire, mon cher,
Mossieu! I break. Ze ole compaynie come no more to
see me—zey grow up—I keep my house all ze same. Ze
ole compaynie in ze ole times drop in of evenings, and
say, `Bon jour, Mossieu Guillemot! Some cafe s'il vous
plait, some oystare—Ah, Mossieur, one canoeese back
delicieuse!' An' I say, `Messieurs, ze honneur of Guillemot
is pledge to you, and all shall be sur la table, in one
instant. Bon—and so zey set down and play dominoes,
and smile—so elegant—and say, what nice house, Mossieu
Guillemot conduct—and so ze cafe come—zey drink—zey
pay—and smile, and bow, and say, Bon jour Mossieu,
mon ami—good day, my dear sir and friend. What
polite gentlemen! Ah ha! this no last all ze time. Ze
young men come—zey no say Mossieu Guillemot! some
cafe, if you please! Non! zey cry out, cocktail! smash!
oystare! vite!!! mak' 'aste! 'an then zey no pay nothing,
Mossieu. Ze long bills break me, Mossieu Sansoucí.
Poor Guillemot is bank-a-root—he is bank-a-root, Mossieur
Sansouci—c'est tout!”

And pausing with a flush upon his countenance, Monsieu
Guillemot's head drooped. Before Sansoucy could
speak, however, this flush passed away, and the old
Frenchman's face grew smiling and cheerful again; and
glancing at his boot, he cried with all the vivacity of a
veritable garçon;

“Sainte Maire! quelle betise. My botte! Mossieur,
my neighbors,” he added, to Joe Lacklitter,” 'ave you,
per'aps some blackeeng?”

Joe shook his head, and said he was very sorry, but he
had not; at which Monsieur Guillemot's countenance
was seen to assume an expression of decided gloom.

“Nevare mind! nevare mind!” he said, however, in a
moment; “I clean my boots ver well. I 'ave much
plaisir in 'aving seen my friends—and mam'selle Ellie's
face is always like ze sunshine.”

With which elegant speech Monsieur Guillemot was
going out of the room.

“Are you fixing to go to the gallery, Monsieur Guillemot?”
said Satsoucy.

“Sur l'instant! in one moment, Mossieur!” said the
old Frenchman.

“Well, I will wait for you. Come by as you descend,
and we will go together.

This arrangement seemed to please Monsieur Guillemot,
and ten minutes after ascending he came down, wrapped
in his old travelling cloak, and carrying under his arm a
bundle of foils.

Sansoucy with a last kind word to Joe and Ellie, and
a promise to bring Charley a present of gingerbread in a
day or two, left the humble room with the fencing-master,
who muttered as he went with a smile, “Poor Guillemot
is bank-a-root, Mossieur Sansoucí, bank-a-root!!'