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Updated: May 13, 2025
Who ever heard of being so stiff with a man in business these eight years, and the father of a family? making me run the risk of losing everything, carriage and money too, if I can't find before to-morrow night that miserable last thousand! Hue, Bichette! They won't play that trick on the great coach offices, I'll warrant you." "Yes, that's it," said the rapin; "'your money or your strife."
He approached with something like awe. "Why, what's the matter, Bichette? Do you feel any worse?" Desiree replied with a movement of her little pale face that she felt very ill and that she wanted to speak to him very close, very close. When the great man stood by her pillow, she laid her burning hand on the great man's arm and whispered in his ear. She was very ill, hopelessly ill.
Coralie! n'est-ce pas que tu n'aimes que les hommes faits, ma bichette?" My lord said, with a grin, "You flatter me, Madame Brack."
Philip thrust his sabre into the sheath, caught at the bridle of the precious animal that he had managed to keep for so long, and drew her away from the miserable fodder that she was bolting with apparent relish. "Come along, Bichette! come along! It lies with you now, my beauty, to save Stephanie's life.
This little horse was a mare named Bichette; she ate little, she was spirited, she was indefatigable, she was worth her weight in gold. "My wife wouldn't give her for that fat lazybones of a Rougeot!" cried Pierrotin, when some traveller would joke him about his epitome of a horse. The difference between this vehicle and the other consisted chiefly in the fact that the other was on four wheels.
Just as Pierrotin reappeared, having harnessed Bichette, the porter returned with a stout man in tow, whose weight could not have been less than two hundred and fifty pounds at the very least. Pere Leger belonged to the species of farmer which has a square back, a protuberant stomach, a powdered pigtail, and wears a little coat of blue linen.
But in presence of such amusing sights the men themselves were grave and gloomy. The silence was broken only by the snapping of the wood, the crackling of the flames, the distant murmur of the camps, and the blows of the sabre given to what remained of Bichette in search of her tenderest morsels.
There are plenty of dead horses up there. Go and fetch them." "Isn't he a joker, that officer! One, two get out of the way," cried a colossal grenadier. "No, you won't, hey! Well, as you please, then." A woman's cry rose higher than the report of the musket. Philippe fortunately was not touched, but Bichette, mortally wounded, was struggling in the throes of death.
He smiled in a piteous manner, one of those smiles with which one veils the most horrible suffering, but he replied in a coaxing but agonized tone: "If you were very kind, we should remain here, both of us." She indicated no with her head, without opening her mouth. He insisted: "I beg of you, my Bichette." Then she roughly broke out: "You know what I said to you.
He approached with something like awe. "Why, what's the matter, Bichette? Do you feel any worse?" Desiree replied with a movement of her little pale face that she felt very ill and that she wanted to speak to him very close, very close. When the great man stood by her pillow, she laid her burning hand on the great man's arm and whispered in his ear. She was very ill, hopelessly ill.
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