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He evidently was not angry at what she had dared to say, and she acknowledged this to herself with an aching heart. "I don't exactly trust your kind of care," said Madame d'Argy, with a smile that was not gay, and certainly not amiable. She went, however, because Fred repeated: "But go and see the Abbe Bardin."
They say that her real name, her maiden name for she still has every claim to the title of maiden except that of innocence is Octavia Bardin, from which she constructs the name Obardi by prefixing the first letter of her first name and dropping the last letter of the last name." "Moreover, she is a lovable woman, and you, from your physique, are inevitably bound to become her lover.
Spike half dragged his fearful charge across the floor, not too subtly shouldered a way between Bill Bardin and Terry Stamper, bowed gracefully to the strange beauty, and said, "Hello, sister! Shake hands with my friend, Kid Cowan." "Pleased to meet you!" She smiled graciously upon Wilbur and extended a richly jewelled hand, which he timidly pressed. Then she turned to Spike Brennon.
It was pleasanter than sitting in a dusty printing office, and the smells were less obtrusive. Also, Bill Bardin went about bareheaded and clad above the waist only in a sleeveless jersey that was tight across his broad chest and gave his big arms free play. He chewed tobacco, too, like a printer, but cautioned his young helper against this habit in early youth.
He evidently was not angry at what she had dared to say, and she acknowledged this to herself with an aching heart. "I don't exactly trust your kind of care," said Madame d'Argy, with a smile that was not gay, and certainly not amiable. She went, however, because Fred repeated: "But go and see the Abbe Bardin."
Tell me what to do in future I am weary of taking charge of myself. I said so the other day to the Abbe Bardin. He is the only person I have seen since my return. It seems to me I am coming back to my old ideas you remember how I once wished to end my days in the cell of a Carmelite?
"And what did the Abbe Bardin tell you?" asked Giselle, with a slight movement of her shoulders. "He only told me that he could not say at present whether that were my vocation." "Nor can I," said Giselle. Jacqueline lifted up her face, wet with tears, which she had been leaning on the lap of Giselle.
The Abbe Bardin was pointing out to her that, unmarried, her son would return to Tonquin, that Lizerolles would be left deserted, her house would be desolate without daughter-in-law or grandchildren; and, as he drew these pictures, he came back, again and again, to his main argument: "I will answer for their happiness: I will answer for the future."
Before Giselle went home to her own house she called on the Abbe Bardin, whom a rather surly servant was not disposed to disturb, as he was just eating his breakfast. The Abbe Bardin was Jacqueline's confessor, and he held the same relation to a number of other young girls who were among her particular friends.
But when this smile, the result of long experience, did not light up his features, the good Abbe Bardin looked like an elderly child; he was short, his walk was a trot, his face was round and ruddy, his eyes, which were short-sighted, were large, wide-open, and blue, and his heavy crop of white hair, which curled and crinkled above his forehead, made him look like a sixty-year-old angel, crowned with a silvery aureole.
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