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"Our chickens are also " a torrent of bad language from Monsieur Deschamps, and a howl of execration from all the rest, silenced Clifford. "It's too hot for that sort of thing," pleaded Elliott. "Idiot!" muttered the Frenchman, shooting ominous glances at the bland youth, who saw nothing. "C'est l'heure," cried a dozen voices, and the tired model stretched his cramped limbs.
What suffering it costs to be a coward! Some days before the crevasse occurred, he whom we know as the pot-hunter stood again on the platform of that same little railway station whence we once saw him vanish at sight of Bonaventure Deschamps. He had never ventured there since, until now. But there was a new station agent. His Indian squaw was dead.
Her confidential secretary, Deschamps, however, afterwards informed her that this nobleman wanted to purchase the place of a coadjutor to his uncle, so as to be certain of succeeding him.
Neither earth nor heaven held consolation for such wrong as his. Deschamps brooded on his woe; alone he endured his agony, giving utterance to his despair in the words: "France! Pascal! Traitor!" Years passed and the trapper lived on, a senile wreck, ever brooding on defeat, then breaking into fierce invective. Misery had isolated him from his kind; the grand monsieur was the recluse of Tadousac.
The theory that knighthood was a personal acquisition had been maintained up to this period, the Children of France alone being excepted from the rule, though in his Lay de Vaillance Eustache Deschamps complains that the degree of knighthood is actually conferred on those who are only ten or twelve years old, and who do not know what to do with the honour.
Brit. Mus., Add. Kitts. MSS., A. 347, f. 36. According to Dutertre's version, Watts had scarcely forsaken the island when Deschamps arrived in the Road, and found that the French inhabitants had already made themselves masters of the colony and had substituted the French for the English standard.
I assured her that her fears were groundless, that we lived in the nineteenth century, and that Deschamps' fury would spend itself in nothing worse than threats. In the end she said she would reconsider the matter. "Don't wait to reconsider," I urged, "but set off for Paris at once. Go to-day. Act. It will do you good."
"You are right, Valentine; but how shall I ascertain?" "From the notary, M. Deschamps." "I know him." "And for myself I will write to you, depend on me. I dread this marriage, Maximilian, as much as you." "Thank you, my adored Valentine, thank you; that is enough.
You want to hear of Deschamps?" I nodded, half-admiring her perhaps more than half. "She is a woman to fear. I have told you I used to be her maid before I came to mademoiselle, and even I was always afraid of her. But I liked her.
Nay, and it was in rhyme that he should learn rhyming: in the verses of his father's Maître d'Hôtel, Eustache Deschamps, which treated of l'art de dictier et de faire chançons, ballades, virelais et rondeaux, along with many other matters worth attention, from the courts of Heaven to the misgovernment of France.
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