But that talking French to Miss Pinkerton was capital fun, wasn't
it? She doesn't know a word of French, and was too proud to confess
it. I believe it was that which made her part with me; and so thank
Heaven for French. Vive la France! Vive l'Empereur! Vive Bonaparte!"

"O Rebecca, Rebecca, for shame!" cried Miss Sedley; for this was the
greatest blasphemy Rebecca had as yet uttered; and in those days, in
England, to say, "Long live Bonaparte!" was as much as to say, "Long
live Lucifer!" "How can you--how dare you have such wicked,
revengeful thoughts?"

"Revenge may be wicked, but it's natural," answered Miss Rebecca.
"I'm no angel." And, to say the truth, she certainly was not.

For it may be remarked in the course of this little conversation
(which took place as the coach rolled along lazily by the river
side) that though Miss Rebecca Sharp has twice had occasion to thank
Heaven, it has been, in the first place, for ridding her of some
person whom she hated, and secondly, for enabling her to bring her
enemies to some sort of perplexity or confusion; neither of which
are very amiable motives for religious gratitude, or such as would
be put forward by persons of a kind and placable disposition. Miss
Rebecca was not, then, in the least kind or placable. All the world
used her ill, said this young misanthropist, and we may be pretty
certain that persons whom all the world treats ill, deserve entirely
the treatment they get. The world is a looking-glass, and gives
back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it, and
it will in turn look sourly upon you; laugh at it and with it, and
it is a jolly kind companion; and so let all young persons take
their choice. This is certain, that if the world neglected Miss