Little Dorrit
beyond all power of written expression, our familiar English ‘I believe you!’      

       ‘Haha! You are right! A gentleman I am! And a gentleman I’ll live, and a gentleman I’ll die! It’s my intent to be a gentleman. It’s my game. Death of my soul, I play it out wherever I go!’      

       He changed his posture to a sitting one, crying with a triumphant air:     

       ‘Here I am! See me! Shaken out of destiny’s dice-box into the company of a mere smuggler;—shut up with a poor little contraband trader, whose papers are wrong, and whom the police lay hold of besides, for placing his boat (as a means of getting beyond the frontier) at the disposition of other little people whose papers are wrong; and he instinctively recognises my position, even by this light and in this place. It’s well done! By Heaven! I win, however the game goes.’      

       Again his moustache went up, and his nose came down.     

       ‘What’s the hour now?’ he asked, with a dry hot pallor upon him, rather difficult of association with merriment.     

       ‘A little half-hour after mid-day.’      

       ‘Good! The President will have a gentleman before him soon. Come! Shall I tell you on what accusation? It must be now, or never, for I shall not return here. Either I shall go free, or I shall go to be made ready for shaving. You know where they keep the razor.’      

       Signor Cavalletto took his cigarette from between his parted lips, and showed more momentary discomfiture than might have been expected.     

       ‘I am a’—Monsieur Rigaud stood up to say it—‘I am a       cosmopolitan gentleman. I own no particular country. My father was Swiss—Canton de Vaud. My mother was French by blood, English by birth. I myself was born in Belgium. I am a citizen of the world.’      

       His theatrical air, as he stood with one arm on his hip within the folds of his cloak, together with his manner of disregarding his companion and addressing the opposite wall instead, seemed to intimate that he was rehearsing for the President, whose examination he was shortly to undergo, rather than troubling himself merely to enlighten so small a person as John Baptist Cavalletto.     


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