United States or Cabo Verde ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !


Come, come," cried La Louve, snatching the bundle from the hands of Mont Saint Jean. The wretched handkerchief was torn to pieces in the struggle, and its contents, composed of rags and bits of stuff of all colors, were strewn on the ground and trampled under foot, amid shouts of laughter. "What rags! What trash! An old rag shop! Takes more thread than stuff!

The Troubadours indulged in even greater vagaries, and one Pierre Vidal, in love with a certain Louve de Penautier, whose first name meant "she-wolf," adopted the name of Loup, and actually assumed a wolf skin as his garment. To prove his sincerity even more, he insisted upon being completely wrapped in this hide and hunted by hounds and horsemen.

It was the climax of savage energy. At each stroke, the thick and long hair of La Louve, untied by the violence of her movements, shook about her head like a shaggy mane of copper color. Suddenly, from the other side of the island, resounded a cry of distress, of terrible, desperate agony. La Louve shuddered, and stopped short.

Well, two or three times I have surprised myself in envying can anything be more sneaking? in envying your face like the Holy Virgin's! your soft, sad manner! Yes, I have envied even your fair hair, and your blue eyes. I who have always detested fair faces, since I am a brunette wish to resemble you!" "No, La Louve! me?"

It was at this moment that Martial descended, leaning on the arm of La Louve, who had, as the reader knows, thrown over her wet clothes a plaid cloak belonging to Calabash. Struck with the pale looks of the lover of La Louve, and remarking his hands covered with coagulated blood, the count cried, "Who is this man?"

La Goualeuse was right; it makes one so proud to say, 'My husband! Martial you shall see your Louve keeping house, at work! you shall see." "But this place do you believe?" "Poor little Goualeuse, if she is deceived it is others' faults; for she appeared to believe what she told me.

Throwing herself on her knees in the corridor, with the aid of the pincers and of her nails, which she tore, and her fingers, which she cut, La Louve succeeded in drawing out the spikes which fastened the door. At length the door was opened. Martial, pale, his hands covered with blood, fell almost lifeless into the arms of his darling. "At length I see you! I hold you!

"You make fun of me. Can this be possible?" "Who knows? though it is only a castle." "Ah, true; very well." "I say, La Louve, it seems to me I already see you established in your cottage in the forest, with your husband, and two or three children. What happiness!" "Children! Martial!" cried La Louve; "oh, yes, they would be proudly loved." "How much company they would be for you in your solitude.

"I," said La Louve; "I put ten sous for you; but you'll keep your ration, and Mont Saint Jean's baby shall be togged out like a princess." To express the surprise and joy of Mont Saint Jean would be impossible; her grotesque and ugly visage became almost touching.

"Well, now, say," continued Fleur-de-Marie, gently, "say, ought he not be blessed and thanked next to Heaven, who would give you this peaceful and industrious life, instead of the miserable one you lead in the mud in the streets of Paris?" The word "Paris" called La Louve to the reality. A strange phenomenon had just been occurring in the mind, the soul of this creature.