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Updated: June 29, 2025
"I'm going to find Babet." "Ah!" exclaimed Gavroche, "so her name is Babet." Montparnasse lowered his voice: "Not she, he." "Ah! Babet." "Yes, Babet." "I thought he was buckled." "He has undone the buckle," replied Montparnasse.
"Yes, she deserves it to-day particularly," said Annette, eagerly; "because she was not angry with Babet, when she did what was enough to put any body in a passion. Sister Frances, you know this cherry-tree which you grafted for Victoire last year, and that was yesterday so full of blossoms now you see, there is not a blossom left! Babet plucked them all this morning to make a nosegay."
"The sun is setting, and Mad. de Fleury is not yet come," cried Victoire; "she said she would be here this evening What can be the matter?" "Nothing is the matter, you may be sure," said Babet; "but that she has forgotten us she has so many things to think of."
On placing my ear to the grass I seemed to hear continual sounds. Then I dreamed of what my life would be. Buried in the grass until nightfall, I arranged an existence full of labour divided between Babet and my uncle Lazare.
For himself, he never occupied other than a handsome suburban residence, situated between the city and the foot of Mount Royal, and whose doors Mona Macdonald seldom entered; and when she did so, it was to be scowled upon by its menial mistress, a French Canadian, named Babet Blais, who viewed the melancholy visitor with angry and jealous eyes.
"Good Babet," said he, soothingly, "if you are aware of anything untoward of Monsieur's ward, and will declare it, I guarantee to you, not only a condonation for your son, if he have in any shape conspired against her, but a reward so weighty for yourself, that you shall bless the hour that you were awoke so early to be scolded. What do you know of the lost lady of Stillyside?"
"But she did not know," said Victoire, "that pulling off the blossoms would prevent my having any cherries." "Oh, I am very sorry I was so foolish," said Babet; "Victoire did not even say a cross word to me." "Though she was excessively anxious about the cherries," pursued Annette, "because she intended to have given the first she had to Madame de Fleury."
Little by little the cries subsided, and became nothing more than a painful murmur, like the voice of a child falling off to sleep in tears. Then there was absolute silence. This soon caused me unutterable terror. The house seemed empty, now that Babet had ceased sobbing. I was just going upstairs, when the midwife opened the window noiselessly.
Mona Macdonald had visited the advocate at his dwelling, and her presence had stirred not only the womanly curiosity of the lynx-eyed Babet Blais, but her malicious jealousy of one whom she could never but regard as a hateful and favored rival.
The mules neighed, the carters swore, whilst the wine fell with a dull sound to the bottom of the vat. Acrid smells pervaded the warm air. And I continued pacing up and down, as if made tipsy by those perfumes. My poor head was breaking, and as I watched the red juice run from the grapes I thought of Babet.
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