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Updated: June 23, 2025
I laugh, even yet, sometimes, at the grimaces I fancy he made on reading this panegyric, where he was certainly drawn to the life; it began thus: Tu croyois, vieux Penard, qu' une folle manie D' elever ton neveu m'inspireroit l'envie.
I wonder whether I should be happier now if I had lived in a garret "in the brave days when I was twenty-one," if I had undergone the lessons of misery with the attendant compensations of "une folle maitresse, de francs amis et l'amour des chansons," and had joyous-heartedly mounted my six flights of stairs.
I laugh, even yet, sometimes, at the grimaces I fancy he made on reading this panegyric, where he was certainly drawn to the life; it began thus: Tu croyois, vieux Penard, qu' une folle manie D' elever ton neveu m'inspireroit l'envie.
Others who had come, and found that the stupor clung to her, had gone again. P'tit Maitre had been there, and with him Doctor Bonfils, who said that La Folle might die. But death had passed her by. The voice was very clear and steady with which she spoke to Tante Lizette, brewing her tisane there in a corner.
When he had emptied his pockets, La Folle patted his round red cheek, wiped his soiled hands on her apron, and smoothed his hair. Then she watched him as, with his cakes in his hand, he crossed her strip of cotton back of the cabin, and disappeared into the wood. He had boasted of the things he was going to do with his gun out there.
"Ha, ha, ha," she sneered, "the brave monsieur Bijou, how he played with la folle Fifine. Was he not too sure perhaps? Fifine can love, but oh! more delicious, Fifine can hate! yes hate!! hate!!!" she repeated with a malicious pleasure, emphasizing the word, "and she can curse le beau Bijou."
La Folle was sorry when they were gone, for she loved these dumb companions well, and liked to feel that they were there, and to hear them browsing by night up to her own enclosure. It was Saturday afternoon, when the fields were deserted. The men had flocked to a neighboring village to do their week's trading, and the women were occupied with household affairs, La Folle as well as the others.
We were at St. Germain on her birthday. You should have seen the toys and trinkets and sweetmeats which the Court showered upon her the King and Queen, Monsieur, Mademoiselle, the Princess Henrietta, her godmother everybody had a gift for the daughter of La folle Baronne Fareham.
"Mais cela me rend folle," she murmured. "Do you know the air? It's the 'Bridge of Lodi, and we are to dance 'Britannia's Triumph' to it. Come, Mademoiselle, since the 'Triumph' is nicely mixed, let your captive lead you."
She was folle of him, talked of no one else, scarce noticed the Castlewood young people, trotted with him over the house, and told him all its story, showed him the little room in the courtyard where his grandfather used to sleep, and a cunning cupboard over the fireplace which had been made in the time of the Catholic persecutions; drove out with him in the neighbouring country, and pointed out to him the most remarkable sites and houses, and had in return the whole of the young man's story.
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