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Updated: June 20, 2025
With a shout of merriment little Jeanne, for it was she, sprang out of the carriage and threw her arms round Hugh's neck. "O Chéri," she said, "I couldn't keep quiet any longer, though I wanted to hide my face till you had got into the carriage, and then surprise you. But it was so nice to hear you laugh I couldn't keep still." Hugh felt too utterly astonished to reply.
Au secours!" No voice responded. Cheri's hot tears were scalding her neck. She called for each and every one upon the place, and still no answer came. She shouted, she wailed; but whether her voice remained unheard or unheeded, no reply came to her frenzied cries. And all the while Cheri moaned and wept and entreated to be taken home to his mother. La Folle gave a last despairing look around her.
"He wouldn't have taken them away if we had been going to need them again; and really, Jeanne, the more I think of it the more sure I am we could never have got up that stair with our wings on." "Perhaps not," said Jeanne. "Any way I couldn't have got up it with Dudu on my head. But let's go on, Chéri. Are you frightened? I'm not a bit." "I'm not, either," said Hugh.
She spoke no more to Cheri, but muttered constantly, "Bon Dieu, ayez pitie La Folle! Bon Dieu, ayez pitie moi!" Instinct seemed to guide her. When the pathway spread clear and smooth enough before her, she again closed her eyes tightly against the sight of that unknown and terrifying world. A child, playing in some weeds, caught sight of her as she neared the quarters.
"Chéri" walked out with his head in the air, like an ass in a sacred procession, accompanied by Perrotin to the very threshold, and when the friends were once more alone, Clerambault would have liked to resume the conversation, but he could not conceal that he was a little chilled by what had passed.
I saw one, just once, for a leetle minute; while you could breathe so short as that; and began with Cheri, or your English for that, and ended with words Oh, ver much like these: You may nevaire see these lines, which was ver interesting, veree so, and made one want to see what she did with letters she wrote and nevaire mail; so I watch and look, and one day I see them.
And through and over the moaning pealed one multitudinous human cry, one hideous interblending of shoutings and shriekings ... A woman's hand was locked in his own ... "Tighter," he muttered, "tighter still, darling! hold as long as you can!" It was the tenth night of August, eighteen hundred and fifty-six ... "Cheri!"
"I am getting too old to tell stories," said Marcelline, half to herself, half to Hugh, who was following his cousin more slowly. He stopped for a moment. "Too old?" he repeated. "Yes, Monsieur Chéri, too old," the nurse replied. "The thoughts do not come so quickly as they once did, and the words, too, hobble along like lamesters on crutches."
Of all the eyes turned towards the carriage, her good-natured eyes only were dropping tears, and it was her sobbing voice alone that broke the silence with an appeal to me: "N'oublie pas ton francais, mon cheri." In three months, simply by playing with us, she had taught me not only to speak French but to read it as well. She was indeed an excellent playmate.
"About our adventures the drive in the carriage, with Houpet as coachman, and the stair down to the frog's country, and the frogs and the boat, and the concert, and O Jeanne! the song of the swan." Jeanne opened wide her eyes. "Chéri!" she said, "you've been dreaming all these funny things." Hugh was so hurt and disappointed that he nearly began to cry.
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