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Updated: May 24, 2025
"'But are you never bored or lonely? I asked. "He chuckled. "<i Mon pauvre ami>, he said. 'It is evident that you do not know what it is to be an artist." Capitaine Brunot turned to me with a gentle smile, and there was a wonderful look in his dark, kind eyes. "He did me an injustice, for I too know what it is to have dreams. I have my visions too. In my way I also am an artist."
When he shook hands with Capitaine Brunot he enquired politely after <i Madame et les enfants>. For some minutes there was an exchange of courtesies and some local gossip about the island, the prospects of copra and the vanilla crop; then we came to the object of my visit. I shall not tell what Dr.
It is fortunate that, without consultation, the thought of running here should have seized us all. May 31st. I was interrupted so frequently yesterday that I know not how I continued to write so much. First, I was sent for, to go to Mrs. Brunot, who had just heard of her son's death, and who was alone with Dena; and some hours after, I was sent for, to see Fanny, now Mrs.
If all chance of finding lodgings here is lost, and mother remains with Lilly, as she sometimes seems more than half inclined, and Miriam goes to Linwood, as she frequently threatens, I believe I will take a notion, too, and go to Mrs. Brunot! I would rather be there, in all the uncertainty, expecting to be shelled or burnt out every hour, than here. Ouf! what a country!
"I am very fond of chess, and he was always glad of a game. I come to Tahiti three or four times a year for my business, and when he was at Papeete he would come here and we would play. When he married" Captain Brunot smiled and shrugged his shoulders "<i enfin>, when he went to live with the girl that Tiare gave him, he asked me to go and see him. I was one of the guests at the wedding feast."
Brunot was panic-stricken and determined to die in town rather than be starved at Greenwell, and was going in on the same wagon that came out the night before, I got up with her and Nettie, and left Greenwell at ten yesterday morning, bringing nothing except this old book, which I would rather not lose, as it has been an old and kind friend during these days of trouble.
Isn't he the image of the Bacchus who forms the centre of the painting? That's Brunot, and he's thinking about all the god-mothers whose letters swell out his pockets. He can't make up his mind whether he prefers the one who lives in Marseilles and who sent him candied cherries and her photograph; or the one from Laval who keeps him well supplied with devilled ham which he so relishes.
Here the wife of the mayor, Mme. Brunot, has made the stiff old building a human place. The card catalogue carrying information about every soldier from the district, gives its overwhelming news each day gently to wife or mother, through the lips of Mme. Brunot or her women assistants.
Tiare introduced me to him, and he handed me his card, a large card on which was printed <i Rene Brunot>, and underneath, <i Capitaine au Long Cours.> We were sitting on a little verandah outside the kitchen, and Tiare was cutting out a dress that she was making for one of the girls about the house. He sat down with us. "Yes; I knew Strickland well," he said.
"<i Tenez, voila le Capitaine Brunot>," said Tiare, one day when I was fitting together what she could tell me of Strickland. "He knew Strickland well; he visited him at his house." I saw a middle-aged Frenchman with a big black beard, streaked with gray, a sunburned face, and large, shining eyes. He was dressed in a neat suit of ducks.
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