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Updated: May 2, 2025
"Frenchmen rather, I should imagine," replied our hero, as he entered and discovered seven or eight of the unfortunate survivors of the French line-of-battle ship, who had crawled there, bruised, cut, and apparently in the last state of exhaustion. "Bonjour, camarade," said one of them, with difficulty raising himself on his elbow "As-tu d'eau-de-vie?"
Little Percy Neville a blue-eyed, golden-haired lad whom not even a blind man could well have mistaken for anything else than pure Anglo- Saxon flattered himself that "the cut of his jib" was so eminently French as to deceive even the most practised eye; while as to language, he could say bonjour or bon soir, and bow with the air of a born Parisian.
He drew closer, and she, in a very low voice, her olive face stained with a faint flush of crimson, answered, "Bonjour, Monsieur." "Be not abashed. We heard what you were saying to the bird, and I think the sentiments were very pretty." This but confused the little prairie beauty all the more. But the gallant stranger took no heed of her embarrassment.
And here it was that automatic writing was successfully invoked; here we have, as I may say, the first fruits in France of the new attention directed to this seldom-trodden field. M. Janet began by the following simple command: "When I clap my hands you will write Bonjour."
So we entered the boat and were rowed over to the landing-place, but a few hundred yards away, where the Frenchman's little fellow was waiting, patiently, with one arm around a woolly pup with which he seemed to be great friends. As soon as we were ashore he left the dog and came up to Miss Jelliffe. "Bonjour," he said. "Je t'aime bien."
In an instant more the fearful truth rolled over her like a wave, and she sank back upon the pillow with a little moan. Her Mother heard and understood. She too had waked from sleep to sorrow, but she only cried out cheerfully, "Bonjour, my sleepy heads! Last night you did not want to go to your beds at all. This morning you wish not to leave them!
'Bonjour Mesdames, bonjour Mademoiselle, bonjour, bonjour, she bowed and smiled, washing her hands in the air; 'et comment allez-vous ce matin? as the little band of hungry governesses rose with one accord and moved to take their places. Some smiled in answer; others merely bowed. She made enemies as well as friends, the Widow Jequier.
With the merest casual ‘Bonjour, Allègre’ he ranges close to her on the other side and addresses her, hat in hand, in that booming voice of his like a deferential roar of the sea very far away. His articulation is not good, and the first words she really made out were ‘I am an old sculptor. . . Of course there is that habit. . . But I can see you through all that. . . ’
She opened the door for me and added: “Those that don’t care to stoop ought at least make themselves happy.” I turned in the very doorway: “There is something which prevents that?” I suggested. “To be sure there is. Bonjour, Monsieur.” “Such a charming lady in a grey silk dress and a hand as white as snow. She looked at me through such funny glasses on the end of a long handle.
What should I say when I get to the bureau?" "Stop, Monsieur, stop. I do not advise you to apply to the police. It would be waste of time and money. Allow me to think over the matter. I shall see you this evening at the cafe Jean Jacques at eight o'clock. Till then do nothing." "All right; I obey you. The whole thing is out of my way of business awfully. Bonjour."
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