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"Three!" cried Gaspard, and his voice broke. Hippolyte looked insulted. "M'ssieurs," he shouted, "they are from the Canaries. Diable, un berger doit etre genereux." Another laugh, and Gaspard wiped the perspiration from his face. "Five!" said he. "Six!" said Nick, and the villagers turned to him in wonderment. What could such a fine Monsieur want with two yellow birds?
"Three!" cried Gaspard, and his voice broke. Hippolyte looked insulted. "M'ssieurs," he shouted, "they are from the Canaries. Diable, un berger doit etre genereux." Another laugh, and Gaspard wiped the perspiration from his face. "Five!" said he. "Six!" said Nick, and the villagers turned to him in wonderment. What could such a fine Monsieur want with two yellow birds?
He opened the hat-trunk, produced an antiquated beaver with a gold cord, and surveyed it with a covetousness that was admirably feigned. For 'Polyte was an actor. "M'ssieurs, to own such a hat were a patent of nobility. Am I bid twenty livres?" There was a loud laughter, and he was bid four.
But Nick had pulled off his hat and was sweeping her a bow. The girl looked down, smoothing her ribbon, Gaspard took a step forward, and other young women near us tittered with delight. The voice of Hippolyte rolling his r's called out in a French dialect: "M'ssieurs et Mesdames, ce sont des effets d'un pauvre officier qui est mort. Who will buy?"
"Why, you, of course; you brought her here." "No, I didn't. I never saw her until I noticed her being pushed about by the crowd." He caught the girl's eye and colored furiously, hoping she did not suspect the nature of their discussion. Before her helplessness it seemed so brutal. The cab drew up before the Obelisk and a gruff voice cried, "V'la! M'ssieurs! 'dames!"
But Nick had pulled off his hat and was sweeping her a bow. The girl looked down, smoothing her ribbon, Gaspard took a step forward, and other young women near us tittered with delight. The voice of Hippolyte rolling his r's called out in a French dialect: "M'ssieurs et Mesdames, ce sont des effets d'un pauvre officier qui est mort. Who will buy?"
He opened the hat-trunk, produced an antiquated beaver with a gold cord, and surveyed it with a covetousness that was admirably feigned. For 'Polyte was an actor. "M'ssieurs, to own such a hat were a patent of nobility. Am I bid twenty livres?" There was a loud laughter, and he was bid four.
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