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As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no more than a gross hump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of head. The chair-legs were spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy sat perched a-top of them, like a cloud, in the corner of the roof. It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched skull, the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of haunting eyes.
I hazard the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And have you never done anything else but tumble? 'Before I learned that, I used to steal, answered Jean-Marie gravely. 'Upon my word! cried the doctor. 'You are a nice little man for your age. Madame, when my confrere comes from Bourron, you will communicate my unfavourable opinion.
The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man with a Quixotic nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over him, applying a hot water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet dangling. These three were the only occupants except the shadows.
About eight some villagers came round for the performance, and were told how matters stood. It seemed a liberty for a mountebank to fall ill like real people, and they made off again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon was gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street for Doctor Desprez.
I hazard the guess, Madame Tentaillon, that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And have you never done anything else but tumble?" "Before I learned that, I used to steal," answered Jean-Marie gravely. "Upon my word!" cried the Doctor. "You are a nice little man for your age. Madame, when my confrère comes from Bourron, you will communicate my unfavourable opinion.
'Celtic, Celtic! he said. 'Celtic! cried Madame Tentaillon, who had perhaps confounded the word with hydrocephalous. 'Poor lad! is it dangerous? 'That depends, returned the Doctor grimly. And then once more addressing the boy: 'And what do you do for your living, Jean-Marie? he inquired. 'I tumble, was the answer. 'So! Tumble? repeated Desprez. 'Probably healthful.
As for Madame Tentaillon, her shadow was no more than a gross hump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere of head. The chair legs were spindled out as long as stilts, and the boy set perched atop of them, like a cloud, in the corner of the roof. It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He had a great arched skull, the forehead and the hands of a musician, and a pair of haunting eyes.
Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged expressive glances. 'That is bad, my man, resumed the latter, with a shade of sternness. 'Every one should be fond of the dying, or conceal their sentiments; and your master here is dying.
The mountebank lay on his back upon a pallet; a large man, with a Quixotic nose inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped over him, applying a hot water and mustard embrocation to his feet; and on a chair close by sat a little fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet dangling. These three were the only occupants, except the shadows.
The Desprez meanwhile had taken up their abode at Tentaillon's. Madame spent her time in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies, with the admiring aid of Madame Tentaillon, or sitting by the fire in thoughtful abstraction.
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