Charles Dickens

Somebody's Luggage Charles Dickens

"Eh! well then, Monsieur Mutuel! What do I know, what can I say? I assure you that he calls himself Monsieur The Englishman.""Pardon. But I think it is impossible," said Monsieur Mutuel, -a spectacled, snuffy, stooping old gentleman in carpet shoes and a cloth cap with a peaked shade, a loose blue frock-coat reaching to his heels, a large limp white shirt-frill, and cravat to correspond, -that is to say, white was the natural colour of his linen on Sundays, but it toned down with the week."It is," repeated Monsieur Mutuel, his amiable old walnut-shell countenance very walnut-shelly indeed as he smiled and blinked in the bright morning sunlight, -"it is, my cherished Madame Bouclet, I think, impossible!""Hey!" (with a little vexed cry and a great many tosses of her head.) "But it is not impossible that you are a Pig!" retorted Madame Bouclet, a compact little woman of thirty-five or so. "See then, -look there, -read! 'On the second floor Monsieur L'Anglais.' Is it not so?""It is so," said Monsieur Mutuel."Good. Continue your morning walk. Get out!" Madame Bouclet dismissed him with a lively snap of her fin