No, positively, I'll not go.
In my own dress I'll accompany you with pleasure." "Victor, Henri, Guillame," said the gen-d'arme, addressing his companions, who immediately closed round me.

"You see," added he, "there is no use in resisting." Need I recount my own shame and ineffable disgrace?
Alas! it is too, too true.

Harry Lorrequer--whom Stultze entreated to wear his coats, the ornament of Hyde Park, the last appeal in dress, fashion, and equipage--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.