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Poor Casimir and his correspondence his infinitesimal, timorous, idiotic correspondence! He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet letter; but, as he bent himself to decipher the writing, a cloud descended on his brow. 'Bigre! he cried, with a galvanic start. And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and the Doctor's cap was on his head in the turn of a hand. 'Ten minutes!
"As you see, M. le Docteur," she replies, pointing to the beds. This tall Mme. Polge is funereal in her green dress, the ideal of dry-nurses. She completes the picture. But where has Monsieur the Departmental Secretary gone? He has stopped before a cot which he examines sadly, as he stands nodding his head. "Bigre de bigre!" says Pompon in a low voice to Mme. Polge. "It is the Wallachian."
"Bigre!" The Master was pale with rage. His lips drew back, disclosing long dark teeth and sickly gums, in a grimace of fury. He reached out to seize a hammer lying at his hand, but the apprentice said quickly: "Sapri that's the cholera hammer!" The Master of Burials dropped the hammer as though it were at white heat, and eyed it with scared scrutiny.
We went over again on the fifth day, and that time we stayed. The Germans could not stand against us. They broke and ran. The roads where we chased them were full of empty wine-bottles. In one village we caught three officers and a dozen men dead drunk. Bigre! what a fine joke!" Pierre, leaning back upon his heels, was losing himself in his recital. His face lighted up, his hands were waving.
"A Court of Love! Bigre! 'Tis a new idea, and a good one. But where is our little ward? Present her." Mademoiselle had to come forward, and when she had kissed hands the King said: "I hear sad tales of you, mademoiselle; but there, never mind! You must not, however, break all our hearts.
An old fellow of thirty was counselling a young one of eighteen, and explaining to him what sort of an adversary he had to deal with. "The deuce! Look out for yourself. He is a fine swordsman. His play is neat. He has the attack, no wasted feints, wrist, dash, lightning, a just parade, mathematical parries, bigre! and he is left-handed."
Then raising his voice: "And how far may this Beaumont be from here?" "A little more than six miles, if you take the road from Chene to Stenay, which runs up the valley yonder." There was no cessation of the firing, which seemed to be advancing from west to east with a continuous succession of reports like peals of thunder. Sambuc added: "Bigre! it's getting warm.
Whether the fortune came to them from old Brawford, as they pretend, or from some other source, I do not care. I know that it is a reality; that it exists. And some day it will be mine." "Bigre! One hundred millions!" "Let us say ten, or even five that is enough! They have a safe full of bonds, and there will be the devil to pay if I can't get my hands on them."
It isn't possible. There's the marchioness just opposite us in the first gallery, with a new hat." "What does that prove? She's plying her trade of lanceuse. That's a very pretty hat, by the way the colors of Desgranges' horse." "And Jenkins? What has become of Jenkins?" "At Tunis with Felicia. Old Brahim saw them both. It seems that the bey has taken a decided liking to the pearls." "Bigre!"
I bowed, and Henri turned to the Queen, his face assuming a severe expression; but Catherine de Medicis anticipated his speech. "It is so small a favour that I thought your Majesty would have no objection in view of M. d'Orrain's services. I do not, however, press it." Henri hummed and hawed, and a curious, cunning expression came into his eyes. "Bigre!
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