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you never will。'
'At least； I'll try；' said Clennam。 'It will do me no harm to try。'
'I am not certain of that；' rejoined Doyce； laying his hand persuasively
on his shoulder。 'It has done me harm； my friend。 It has aged me； tired
me； vexed me； disappointed me。 It does no man any good to have his
patience worn out； and to think himself ill…used。 I fancy； even already；
that unavailing attendance on delays and evasions has made you something
less elastic than you used to be。'
'Private anxieties may have done that for the moment；' said Clennam；
'but not official harrying。 Not yet。 I am not hurt yet。'
'Then you won't grant my request？'
'Decidedly； No；' said Clennam。 'I should be ashamed if I submitted to
be so soon driven out of the field； where a much older and a much more
sensitively interested man contended with fortitude so long。'
As there was no moving him； Daniel Doyce returned the grasp of his hand；
and； casting a farewell look round the counting…house； went down…stairs
with him。 Doyce was to go to Southampton to join the small staff of
his fellow…travellers； and a coach was at the gate； well furnished and
packed； and ready to take him there。 The workmen were at the gate to see
him off； and were mightily proud of him。 'Good luck to you； Mr Doyce！'
said one of the number。 'Wherever you go； they'll find as they've got a
man among 'em； a man as knows his tools and as his tools knows； a man
as is willing and a man as is able； and if that's not a man； where is
a man！' This oration from a gruff volunteer in the back…ground； not
previously suspected of any powers in that way； was received with three
loud cheers； and the speaker became a distinguished character for ever
afterwards。 In the midst of the three loud cheers； Daniel gave them all
a hearty 'Good Bye； Men！' and the coach disappeared from sight； as if
the concussion of the air had blown it out of Bleeding Heart Yard。
Mr Baptist； as a grateful little fellow in a position of trust； was
among the workmen； and had done as much towards the cheering as a mere
foreigner could。 In truth； no men on earth can cheer like Englishmen；
who do so rally one another's blood and spirit when they cheer in
earnest； that the stir is like the rush of their whole history； with all
its standards waving at once； from Saxon Alfred's downwards。 Mr Baptist
had been in a manner whirled away before the onset； and was taking his
breath in quite a scared condition when Clennam beckoned him to follow
up…stairs； and return the books and papers to their places。
In the lull consequent on the departure……in that first vacuity which
ensues on every separation； foreshadowing the great separation that
is always overhanging all mankind……Arthur stood at his desk； looking
dreamily out at a gleam of sun。 But his liberated attention soon
reverted to the theme that was foremost in his thoughts； and began； for
the hundredth time； to dwell upon every circumstance that had impressed
itself upon his mind on the mysterious night when he had seen the man at
his mother's。 Again the man jostled him in the crooked street； again
he followed the man and lost him； again he came upon the man in the
court…yard looking at the house； again he followed the man and stood
beside him on the door…steps。
'Who passes by this road so late？
pagnon de la Majolaine；
Who passes by this road so late？
Always gay！'
It was not the first time； by many； that he had recalled the song of the
child's game； of which the fellow had hummed @ verse while they stood
side by side； but he was so unconscious of having repeated it audibly；
that he started to hear the next verse。
'Of all the king's knights 'tis the flower；
pagnon de la Majolaine；
Of all the king's knights 'tis the flower；
Always gay！'
Cavalletto had deferentially suggested the words and tune； supposing him
to have stopped short for want of more。
'Ah！ You know the song； Cavalletto？'
'By Bacchus； yes； sir！ They all know it in France。 I have heard it many
times； sung by the little children。 The last time when it I have heard；'
said Mr Baptist； formerly Cavalletto； who usually went back to his
native construction of sentences when his memory went near home； 'is
from a sweet little voice。 A little voice； very pretty； very innocent。
Altro！'
'The last time I heard it；' returned Arthur； 'was in a voice quite the
reverse of pretty； and quite the reverse of innocent。' He said it more
to himself than to his panion； and added to himself； repeating
the man's next words。 'Death of my life； sir； it's my character to be
impatient！'
'EH！' cried Cavalletto； astounded； and with all his colour gone in a
moment。
'What is the matter？'
'Sir！ You know where I have heard that song the last time？'
With his rapid native action； his hands made the outline of a high hook
nose； pushed his eyes near together； dishevelled his hair； puffed out
his upper lip to represent a thick moustache； and threw the heavy end
of an ideal cloak over his shoulder。 While doing this； with a swiftness
incredible to one who has not watched an Italian peasant； he indicated a
very remarkable and sinister smile。
The whole change passed over him like a flash of light； and he stood in
the same instant； pale and astonished； before his patron。
'In the name of Fate and wonder；' said Clennam； 'what do you mean？ Do
you know a man of the name of Blandois？'
'No！' said Mr Baptist； shaking his head。
'You have just now described a man who was by when you heard that song；
have you not？'
'Yes！' said Mr Baptist； nodding fifty times。
'And was he not called Blandois？'
'No！' said Mr Baptist。 'Altro； Altro； Altro； Altro！' He could not reject
the name sufficiently； with his head and his right forefinger going at
once。
'Stay！' cried Clennam； spreading out the handbill on his desk。 'Was this
the man？ You can understand what I read aloud？'
'Altogether。 Perfectly。'
'But look at it； too。 e here and look over me； while I read。'
Mr Baptist approached； followed every word with his quick eyes； saw
and heard it all out with the greatest impatience； then clapped his
two hands flat upon the bill as if he had fiercely caught some noxious
creature； and cried； looking eagerly at Clennam； 'It is the man！ Behold
him！'
'This is of far greater moment to me' said Clennam； in great agitation；
'than you can imagine。 Tell me where you knew the man。'
Mr Baptist； releasing the paper very slowly and with much disfiture；
and drawing himself back two or three paces； and making as though he
dusted his hands； returned； very much against his will：
'At Marsiglia……Marseilles。'
'What was he？'
'A prisoner； and……Altro！ I believe yes！……an；' Mr Baptist crept closer
again to whisper it； 'Assassin！'
Clennam fell back as if the word had struck him a blow： so terrible
did it make his mother's munication with the man appear。
Cavalletto dropped on one knee； and implored him； with a redundancy of
gesticulation； to hear what had brought himself into such foul pany。
He told with perfect truth how it had e of a little contraband
trading； and how he had in time been released from prison； and how he
had gone away from those antecedents。 How； at the house of entertainment
called the Break of Day at Chalons on the Saone； he had been awakened
in his bed at night by the same assassin； then assuming the name of
Lagnier； though his name had formerly been Rigaud； how the assassin had
proposed that they should join their fortunes together； how he held
the assassin in such dread and aversion that he had fled from him at
daylight； and how he had ever since been haunted by the fear of seeing
the assassin again and being claimed by him as an acquaintance。 When he
had related this； with an emphasis and poise on the word； 'assassin；'
peculiarly belonging to his own language； and which did not serve to
render it less terrible to Clennam； he suddenly sprang to his feet；
pounced upon the bill again； and with a vehemence that would have been
absolute madness in any man of Northern origin； cried 'Behold the same
assassin！ Here he is！'
In his passionate raptures； he at first forgot the fact that he had
lately seen the assassin in London。 On his remembering it； it suggested
hope to Clennam that the recognition might be of later date than the
night of the visit at his mother's； but Cavalletto was too exact and
clear about time and place； to leave any opening for doubt that it had
preceded that occasion。
'Listen；' said Arthur； very seriously。 'This man； as we have read here；
has wholly disappeared。'
'Of it I am well content！' said Cavalletto； raising his eyes piously。 'A
thousand thanks to Heaven！ Accursed assassin！'
'Not so；' returned Clennam； 'for until something more is heard of him； I
can never know an hour's peace。'
'Enough； Benefactor； that is quite another thing。 A million of excuses！'
'Now； Cavalletto；' said Clennam； gently turning him by the arm； so that
they looked into each other's eyes。 'I am certain that for the little
I have been able to do for you； you are the most sincerely grateful of
men。'
'I swear it！' cried the other。
'I know it。 If