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Indeed, it was from young Mac that we first heard of Madame de Flicflac, of whom my Jemmy robbed Lady Kilblazes, as I before have related. When our friend the Baron first saw Madame, a very tender greeting passed between them; for they had, as it appeared, been old friends abroad. "Sapristie," said the Baron, in his lingo, "que fais-tu ici, Amenaide?"
She had inquisitive eyes, a pointed, prying nose, and I knew her to be the village gossip, the wife of Jules, Monsieur Vigo's clerk. She had the same smattering of English as her husband. Now she stood regarding me narrowly between half-closed lids. "A la bonne heure! Que fais-tu donc? What do you do so early?" "The garrison is getting ready to leave for Kentucky to-day," I answered. "Ha! Jules!
The tone-deaf gentleman who insists on whistling a popular melody is almost as trying as the lady suffering from the same weakness, who shouts, “Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie!” until you feel impelled to cry, ”Que faites-vous, madame, with the key?”
Does that surprise you very much? Ah, vil esclave! Why, one month of that life would be better than all your previous existence. One month et apres, le deluge! Mais tu ne peux comprendre. Va! Away, away! You are not worth it. Ah, que fais-tu?" For, while drawing on the other stocking, I had felt constrained to kiss her.
Et dis-moi donc, pourquoi es-tu paresseuse? Pourquoi ne fais-tu pas de musique? I fancied you playing c-dur when the hollow, melting wind howls through the dry twigs of the lindens, and d-moll when the snow-flakes chase in fantastic whirls around the corners of the old tower, and, after their desperation is spent, cover the graves with their winding-sheet.
I thought, when I came in, the public was chilly, and I felt cold shivers running down my back. My courage was oozing out of me, and when the lord of the manor said to me, "Rosette, que fais-tu ici?" and I had to answer, "Ce que je fais, Monsieur; mais vous voyez bien, je ne fais rien," I thought I should die of fright and collapse on the spot.
But before we start, have you decided to be wise and to save me from an unpleasant duty?" "Yes. I'll stay. At least while you are here." "While I am here?" the man echoed. "Et alors ?" "Then?" She threw out her arms in a hopeless gesture. "Who knows? Who can read the future? And after all, as you have said, 'What does one life more or less matter?" "Ninon, Ninon, que fais-tu de la vie!"
She had inquisitive eyes, a pointed, prying nose, and I knew her to be the village gossip, the wife of Jules, Monsieur Vigo's clerk. She had the same smattering of English as her husband. Now she stood regarding me narrowly between half-closed lids. "A la bonne heure! Que fais-tu donc? What do you do so early?" "The garrison is getting ready to leave for Kentucky to-day," I answered. "Ha! Jules!
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