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Updated: June 1, 2025
Schofield's greeting, and bestowed her hand upon Penrod, who had entertained no hope of such an honour, showed his surprise that it should come to him, and was plainly unable to decide what to do about it. "Fanchon, dear," said Mrs. Gelbraith, "take Penrod out in the yard for a while, and play." "Let go the little girl's hand, Penrod," Mrs.
That the schemes were vast and the end mighty, she could not doubt. The reward she had received was proof enough of that. Little Fanchon stood there in speechless admiration, whilst her mistress still fondly fingered the magnificent necklace.
One was the absence of Miss Fanchon Bareaud, one the donors; another, that of Corporal Gray; a third was the excessive modesty of Major Vanrevel, although present at the time, refused to receive the ladies' sumptuous offering and insisted that Captain Marsh was the proper person to do the honors, to which the latter reluctantly, though gracefully consented.
The turning tide bore them lightly on its bosom, and they chanted a wild, monotonous refrain as their paddles flashed and dipped alternately in stream and sunshine; "Ah! ah! Tenaouich tenaga! Tenaouich tenaga, ouich ka!" "They are singing about me, no doubt," said Fanchon to herself.
The touch of her armor of fashionable attire would restore her confidence in herself, and enable her to brave down any suspicion in the mind of the Intendant, at any rate it was her only resource, and Angelique was not one to give up even a lost battle, let alone one half gained through the death of her rival. Fanchon came in haste at the summons of her mistress.
"Good-bye, Fanchon." And Fanchon set off across the meadows for her home, the chimneys of which she could see smoking a long way off against the red sky of sunset. On the road she met Antoine, the gardener's little boy. He asked her: "Will you come and play with me, Fanchon?" But she answered: "I won't stop to play with you, because my grandmother told me not to.
It was two hours past midnight, and she would bid Fanchon let her depart to the house of an old crone in the city who would give her a bed and a blessing in the devil's name. Angelique, weary and agitated, bade her be gone in the devil's name, if she preferred a curse to a blessing. The witch, with a mocking laugh, rose and took her departure for the night.
She ran to the hedge, along the top of which a high white hat was now seen perambulating; she pressed down a loose branch, and called in a tender voice to the stranger whom Fanchon had chosen should remain nameless: "Be sure to put some salve on your hand!" He made a bow which just missed being too low, but did miss it.
A moment or two, and, in rags and tatters, hair streaming, and feet bare, on the stage bounded Fanchon, the Cricket. There was an uproarious greeting. Evidently it was not Miss Dane's first appearance before that audience, and still more evidently she was a prime favorite. Mr. Walraven dropped his bill, poised his lorgnette, and prepared to stare his fill.
"Grandmother," she says at last, "is it a great while ago the Blue Bird flew to the Tower where the Princess was shut up?" Her grandmother tells her it was many a long day since, in the times when the animals used to talk. "You were young then?" asks Fanchon. "I was not yet born," the old woman tells her.
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