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Updated: June 20, 2025
Didn't believe but what he would sell it. Was it a female bird? For my ambition had grown by what it fed on, and, instead of contenting myself simply with a companion for Cheri, I was now planning for a whole brood of canaries, with all the interests of housekeeping, baby-tending, and the manifold small cares incident upon domestic life.
If we lived in it always, we should never see the end of the beautiful things there are. Only " "Only what?" asked Hugh. "I don't think it would be a good plan to live in it always. Just sometimes is best, I think. Either the things wouldn't be so pretty, or our eyes wouldn't see them so well after a while. But see, Chéri, the trees are growing common-coloured again, and Houpet is stopping.
"Look before you, Chéri. You see there is no road. It makes itself as we go, so we can't go wrong." Hugh looked straight before him. It was as Jeanne had said. The trees grew thick and close in front, only dividing melting away like a mist as the quaint little carriage approached them. Hugh looked at them with fresh surprise. "Are they not real trees?" he said. "Of course they are," said Jeanne.
Plessy, Anai's, and Augustine Brohan, is constantly with me. At the Porte-Saint-Martin were Frederic Lemaltre and Madame Dorval, startling in their poignant truthfulness and dramatic power in that terrible drama Trente Ans, oil la Vie d'un Joueur. And at the Gymnase we had Rose Cheri. If I talk so much about theatres, it must be remembered that the theatre is one of our glories.
"I always think Dudu looks not at all like a good fairy, when he cocks his head on one side and sticks his claw out like that. I quite believe then that he's a wicked enchanter. O Chéri," she went on, catching hold of Hugh, "what should we do if he was to turn us into two little frogs or toads?"
Jeanne made an exclamation. "Wings!" she said. "Why, Chéri, your wings are gone!" "And so are yours!" said Hugh. Both the children stared at each other and turned round to look at their shoulders, as if they could hardly believe it. "It's too bad," said Jeanne. "It's all Dudu." "Never mind," said Hugh.
Yes, of course! a night-bell! the Dead are Physicians of Souls: they may be summoned only by night, called up from the darkness and silence ... Yet she? might he not dare to ring for her even by day? ........ Strange he had deemed it day! why, it was black, starless ... And it was growing queerly cold ...... How should he ever find her now? It was so black ... so cold! ... "Cheri!"
Her long heavy hair smothered her shoulders and arms in a dark lustrous veil that glistened and rippled in the firelight when she moved. Her young face was scarcely a woman's to-night, though she was a mother. She looked like a child. Old Pierre laughed as he threw down the last armful of fuel, and stood breathing hard. "It was close, ma cheri" he panted through his white beard.
They heard a little noise, and looking up, there hopping down the stair before them, step by step, as if some one had started it from the top, came the lost ball, or what the children thought the lost ball, for with an exclamation Hugh darted forward to pick it up, and held it out to Jeanne. But Jeanne looked at it with astonishment. "Why, Chéri," she cried, "it's turned into gold."
One day I heard a great "to-do" in the cage, and found that half the blind was shut, and helped Cheri to a reflection of himself, which he evidently thought was another bird, and he was in high feather.
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