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The lads were strongly tempted to help themselves to Antoine's provisions before they left, but they finally decided not to do so, especially as they believed that they had plenty of their own. "He'll need them all before he gets rid of that sore wrist," Sandy laughed. "He won't be in shape to do much hunting!"
"Let us hasten to those pleasant islands where the palms are waving." Anglice smiled. "I am going there, mon père." A week from that evening the wax candles burned at her feet and forehead, lighting her on the journey. All was over. Now was Antoine's heart empty. Death, like another Emile, had stolen his new Anglice. He had nothing to do but to lay the blighted flower away.
Father Antoine's face glowed with loving satisfaction as he pronounced the words so solemn to him, so significant to them. As for Marie, she could hardly keep quiet on her knees: her silver necklace fairly rattled on her shoulders with her excitement.
For he has already endured heavy things at her hands; and, if this one thing be to her a grievous burden, all the more doth it show her love, if she accept it and bear it to the end." "Well, well," said Dr. Macgowan, somewhat wearied with Father Antoine's sentiments and emotions, "I have lost the best nurse I ever had, or shall have.
"Do I?" replied Hetty, cheerfully: "that's an odd thing for a woman so old as I am. My birthday is next month. I shall be forty-six." "Youth is not a matter of years," replied Father Antoine. "I have known very young women much older than you." Hetty smiled sadly, and walked on. Father Antoine's words had given her a pang. They were almost the same words which Dr.
Early the next morning, she went to Father Antoine's house. The good old man was at work in his garden. His little cottage was surrounded by beds which were gay with flowers from June till November. Nothing was left in bloom now, except asters and chrysanthemums: but there was no flower, not even his July carnations, in which he took such pride, as in his chrysanthemums.
With these words she reached the door. "But give me some explanations," he implored. "I can't strike a bargain with you in perfect ignorance of everything. For two days past I have been quite in the dark as to what's going on. How do I know that you are not cheating me?" "Bah! you're a simpleton," replied Felicite, who had retraced her steps at Antoine's doleful appeal.
I am now convinced that Antoine's death is not the cause of it. There is some present source of distraction, which renders her ill at ease. I have again observed that singular glance with which she at first regarded me; but it was so transitory, I could not read its meaning, and my heart and eyes were searching elsewhere.
Wishing to learn something of Père Antoine's history, Sir Charles Lyell made inquiries among the ancient créole inhabitants of the faubourg. That the old priest, in his last days, became very much emaciated, that he walked about the streets like a mummy, that he gradually dried up, and finally blew away, was the meagre and unsatisfactory result of the tourist's investigations.
Antoine's equivocal statement as to Mrs. Bashford's age was ridiculous. Instead of the middle-aged woman whom I was prepared to meet, here was beyond question a vigorous, healthy being whose every movement spoke for youth and the joy of life.
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