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"A lady who pays but five francs and a half shouldn't be too clever. C'est deplace. I don't like the type." "What type do you call Mrs. Church's?" "Mon Dieu," said Madame Beaurepas, "c'est une de ces mamans comme vous en avez, qui promenent leur fille." "She is trying to marry her daughter? I don't think she's of that sort." But Madame Beaurepas shrewdly held to her idea.
I am reading Juste Olivier's "Chansons du Soir" over again, and all the melancholy of the poet seems to pass into my veins. It is the revelation of a complete existence, and of a whole world of melancholy reverie. How much character there is in "Musette," the "Chanson de l'Alouette," the "Chant du Retour," and the "Gaite," and how much freshness in "Lina," and "A ma fille!"
This ceremony over, they walked towards Mont Violet, averting their heads as they passed the Manor Cartier, in a kind of tribute to its departed master as a Stuart Legitimist might pass the big palace at the end of the Mall in London. In the wood-path, Fille took his sister's hand. "I will tell you what you are so trembling to hear," he said.
It was probably some stupid business about "money not being paid into the Court," which had been left over from cases tried and lost; and he had had a number of cases that summer. His head was not so clear to-day as usual, but he had had little difficulties with M'sieu' Fille before, and he was sure that there was something wrong now.
"What is the fellow jabbering about?" exclaimed the Alderman, whose mouth fell nearly to the degree that rendered the countenance of the valet so singularly expressive of distress. "Where is my niece, Sir? and what means this allusion to her absence?" "La fille de Monsieur de Barbérie n'y est pas!" cried François, whose heart was too full to utter more.
Judge Carcasson had always said that Zoe had judgment beyond her years; M. Fille had remarked often that she had both prudence and shrewdness as well as a sympathetic spirit; but M. Fille's little whispering sister, who could never be tempted away from her home to any house, to whom the market and the church were like pilgrimages to distant wilds, had said to her brother: "Wait, Armand wait till Zoe is waked, and then prudence and wisdom will be but accident.
Monsieur must not take heed of the ready tongue of my daughter," the poor terrified and over-credulous father put in with much trepidation. "Mon pere need not apologize to Monsieur Riel for sa fille," the girl said, giving her father a glance of mild reproach.
He even drank three glasses of the cordial which Mere Langlois had left for him, with the idea that it might comfort him when he got the bad news about Sebastian Dolores; and parting with M. Fille at the door, he waved a hand and said: "Well, good-night, master of the laws. Safe journey! I'm off to bed, and I'll sleep without rocking, that's very sure and sweet."
One of them was accompanied by a young girl, apparently the wife of the recruit by whose side she was marching. She wore the tight blue jacket of the troop, and a red skirt, reaching to the knees, over her soldier pantaloons; while her pretty face showed to advantage beneath a small military cap. It was a "Fille du Regiment" in real life.
Elle est si gentille avec sa mère! Ma Mimisse! Ma petite fille! My little girl! Dites, mon ami' she abandoned the dog 'have you some money for our lunch? Five francs? 'That enough? Henry asked, handing her the piece. 'Thank you, she said. 'Viens, Mimisse. 'You haven't put your hat on, Henry informed her. 'Mais, mon pauvre ami, is it that you take me for a duchess?
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