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Updated: May 26, 2025
At first he would not; but when Caroche said that it was only his fun, that he meant nothing against Francois, the young man recited the words slowly an epitaph on one who was little better than a prize-fighter, a splendid bully.
"What, what, the messy stupid Caroche, who can't write his name," she said in a fury; "the sausage-potted Caroche, who doesn't remember that Francois Lagarre made his brother's tombstone, and charged him nothing for the verses he wrote for it, nor for the Agnus Dei he carved on it! No, Caroche does not remember his brother Ba'tiste the fighter, as brave as Caroche is a coward!
At first he would not; but when Caroche said that it was only his fun, that he meant nothing against Francois, the young man recited the words slowly an epitaph on one who was little better than a prize-fighter, a splendid bully.
"What, what, the messy stupid Caroche, who can't write his name," she said in a fury; "the sausage-potted Caroche, who doesn't remember that Francois Lagarre made his brother's tombstone, and charged him nothing for the verses he wrote for it, nor for the Agnus Dei he carved on it! No, Caroche does not remember his brother Ba'tiste the fighter, as brave as Caroche is a coward!
"Fig of Eden," muttered Jules Marmotte, with one eye on Jeanne, "any fool could saw a better-looking thing out of ice!" "Fish," said fat Caroche the butcher, "that Francois has a rattle in his capote. He'd spend his time better chipping bones on my meat-block." But Jeanne could not bear this the greasy whopping butcher-man!
"Fig of Eden," muttered Jules Marmotte, with one eye on Jeanne, "any fool could saw a better-looking thing out of ice!" "Fish," said fat Caroche the butcher, "that Francois has a rattle in his capote. He'd spend his time better chipping bones on my meat-block." But Jeanne could not bear this the greasy whopping butcher-man!
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