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"The voice was shaky and, I dare say, uncertain in its upper notes; but it fetched M. Benest right-about-face again. He perceived that it came from the garden of a solitary cottage up the road, a gunshot and more beyond his signpost. But a tall hedge interrupted his view, and, though he stared long and earnestly, all he could see that day was a pea-stick nodding above it.
"'Mademoiselle, he began, 'I have just learnt but it is an infamy! Permettez I am French, I also, though you do not know me perhaps. "And with that M. Benest stammered and came to a halt, for her eyes were worse than woeful. They were accusing yes, accusing him. Of what? Nom de tonnerre, what had he done? "'You, Monsieur! You an officer of France! "'Mais quel rapport y a-t-il?
"Before the next July he had made sure of one plant at least on his side of the signpost; and fished beside it day after day, fearful lest some animal should browse upon it. But when the happy morning came for it to open, and M. Benest knelt beside his prize, he drew back a hand. "'Is it quite open? he asked. 'Better wait, since all is safe, for the sun to warm it a little longer.
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