Little Dorrit - Page 22/462

They made little account of stare and glare, in the new pleasure of

recovering their freedom, but flitted across the harbour in gay boats,

and reassembled at a great hotel, whence the sun was excluded by closed

lattices, and where bare paved floors, lofty ceilings, and resounding

corridors tempered the intense heat. There, a great table in a great

room was soon profusely covered with a superb repast; and the quarantine

quarters became bare indeed, remembered among dainty dishes, southern

fruits, cooled wines, flowers from Genoa, snow from the mountain tops,

and all the colours of the rainbow flashing in the mirrors.

'But I bear those monotonous walls no ill-will now,' said Mr Meagles.

'One always begins to forgive a place as soon as it's left behind; I

dare say a prisoner begins to relent towards his prison, after he is let

out.' They were about thirty in company, and all talking; but necessarily in

groups.

Father and Mother Meagles sat with their daughter between them,

the last three on one side of the table: on the opposite side sat Mr

Clennam; a tall French gentleman with raven hair and beard, of a swart

and terrible, not to say genteelly diabolical aspect, but who had

shown himself the mildest of men; and a handsome young Englishwoman,

travelling quite alone, who had a proud observant face, and had either

withdrawn herself from the rest or been avoided by the rest--nobody,

herself excepted perhaps, could have quite decided which. The rest

of the party were of the usual materials: travellers on business, and

travellers for pleasure; officers from India on leave; merchants in

the Greek and Turkey trades; a clerical English husband in a meek

strait-waistcoat, on a wedding trip with his young wife; a majestic

English mama and papa, of the patrician order, with a family of three

growing-up daughters, who were keeping a journal for the confusion of

their fellow-creatures; and a deaf old English mother, tough in travel,

with a very decidedly grown-up daughter indeed, which daughter went

sketching about the universe in the expectation of ultimately toning

herself off into the married state.

The reserved Englishwoman took up Mr Meagles in his last remark. 'Do

you mean that a prisoner forgives his prison?' said she, slowly and with

emphasis. 'That was my speculation, Miss Wade. I don't pretend to know positively

how a prisoner might feel. I never was one before.'

'Mademoiselle doubts,' said the French gentleman in his own language,

'it's being so easy to forgive?' 'I do.'

Pet had to translate this passage to Mr Meagles, who never by any

accident acquired any knowledge whatever of the language of any country

into which he travelled. 'Oh!' said he. 'Dear me! But that's a pity,

isn't it?' 'That I am not credulous?' said Miss Wade.