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hoarse voice； said from time to time； 'Surely； surely！' tossing his
head and shutting his eyes； as if there were the clearest case against
society that perfect candour could make out。
'Put my shoes there；' continued Lagnier。 'Hang my cloak to dry there
by the door。 Take my hat。' He obeyed each instruction； as it was given。
'And this is the bed to which society consigns me； is it？ Hah。 Very
well！'
As he stretched out his length upon it； with a ragged handkerchief
bound round his wicked head； and only his wicked head showing above the
bedclothes； John Baptist was rather strongly reminded of what had so
very nearly happened to prevent the moustache from any more going up as
it did； and the nose from any more ing down as it did。
'Shaken out of destiny's dice…box again into your pany； eh？ By
Heaven！ So much the better for you。 You'll profit by it。 I shall need a
long rest。 Let me sleep in the morning。'
John Baptist replied that he should sleep as long as he would； and
wishing him a happy night； put out the candle。 One might have Supposed
that the next proceeding of the Italian would have been to undress；
but he did exactly the reverse； and dressed himself from head to foot；
saving his shoes。 When he had so done； he lay down upon his bed with
some of its coverings over him； and his coat still tied round his neck；
to get through the night。
When he started up； the Godfather Break of Day was peeping at its
namesake。 He rose； took his shoes in his hand； turned the key in the
door with great caution； and crept downstairs。 Nothing was astir there
but the smell of coffee； wine； tobacco； and syrups； and madame's little
counter looked ghastly enough。 But he had paid madame his little note
at it over night； and wanted to see nobody……wanted nothing but to get on
his shoes and his knapsack； open the door； and run away。
He prospered in his object。 No movement or voice was heard when he
opened the door； no wicked head tied up in a ragged handkerchief looked
out of the upper window。 When the sun had raised his full disc above the
flat line of the horizon； and was striking fire out of the long muddy
vista of paved road with its weary avenue of little trees； a black speck
moved along the road and splashed among the flaming pools of rain…water；
which black speck was John Baptist Cavalletto running away from his
patron。
CHAPTER 12。 Bleeding Heart Yard
In London itself； though in the old rustic road towards a suburb of note
where in the days of William Shakespeare； author and stage…player； there
were Royal hunting…seats……howbeit no sport is left there now but for
hunters of men……Bleeding Heart Yard was to be found； a place much
changed in feature and in fortune； yet with some relish of ancient
greatness about it。 Two or three mighty stacks of chimneys； and a few
large dark rooms which had escaped being walled and subdivided out of
the recognition of their old proportions； gave the Yard a character。
It was inhabited by poor people； who set up their rest among its faded
glories； as Arabs of the desert pitch their tents among the fallen
stones of the Pyramids； but there was a family sentimental feeling
prevalent in the Yard； that it had a character。
As if the aspiring city had bee puffed up in the very ground on which
it stood； the ground had so risen about Bleeding Heart Yard that you
got into it down a flight of steps which formed no part of the original
approach； and got out of it by a low gateway into a maze of shabby
streets； which went about and about； tortuously ascending to the level
again。 At this end of the Yard and over the gateway； was the factory of
Daniel Doyce； often heavily beating like a bleeding heart of iron；
with the clink of metal upon metal。 The opinion of the Yard was divided
respecting the derivation of its name。 The more practical of its inmates
abided by the tradition of a murder； the gentler and more imaginative
inhabitants； including the whole of the tender sex； were loyal to the
legend of a young lady of former times closely imprisoned in her chamber
by a cruel father for remaining true to her own true love； and refusing
to marry the suitor he chose for her。 The legend related how that the
young lady used to be seen up at her window behind the bars； murmuring a
love…lorn song of which the burden was； 'Bleeding Heart； Bleeding Heart；
bleeding away；' until she died。 It was objected by the murderous party
that this Refrain was notoriously the invention of a tambour…worker； a
spinster and romantic； still lodging in the Yard。 But； forasmuch as all
favourite legends must be associated with the affections； and as many
more people fall in love than mit murder……which it may be hoped；
howsoever bad we are； will continue until the end of the world to be
the dispensation under which we shall live……the Bleeding Heart； Bleeding
Heart； bleeding away story； carried the day by a great majority。 Neither
party would listen to the antiquaries who delivered learned lectures in
the neighbourhood； showing the Bleeding Heart to have been the heraldic
cognisance of the old family to whom the property had once belonged。
And； considering that the hour…glass they turned from year to year was
filled with the earthiest and coarsest sand； the Bleeding Heart Yarders
had reason enough for objecting to be despoiled of the one little golden
grain of poetry that sparkled in it。
Down in to the Yard； by way of the steps； came Daniel Doyce； Mr Meagles；
and Clennam。 Passing along the Yard； and between the open doors on
either hand； all abundantly garnished with light children nursing heavy
ones； they arrived at its opposite boundary； the gateway。 Here Arthur
Clennam stopped to look about him for the domicile of Plornish；
plasterer； whose name； according to the custom of Londoners； Daniel
Doyce had never seen or heard of to that hour。
It was plain enough； nevertheless； as Little Dorrit had said； over a
lime…splashed gateway in the corner； within which Plornish kept a ladder
and a barrel or two。 The last house in Bleeding Heart Yard which she
had described as his place of habitation； was a large house； let off to
various tenants； but Plornish ingen