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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Doze Creole' is lezzy," said Aurora. "That is a hard word to apply to those who do not consciously deserve it," said Frowenfeld; "but if they could only wake up to the fact, find it out themselves " "Ceddenly," said Clotilde. "'Sieur Frowenfel'," said Aurora, leaning her head on one side, "some pipple thing it is doze climade; 'ow you lag doze climade?"
Sometimes she shook her head in solemn scorn; and, when Frowenfeld, at a certain point where Palmyre's fate locked hands for a time with that of Bras-Coupé, asked a fervid question concerning that strange personage, tears leaped into her eyes, as she said: "Ah! 'Sieur Frowenfel', iv I tra to tell de sto'y of Bras-Coupé, I goin' to cry lag a lill bebby."
Frowenfeld," he said, as the delighted apothecary turned with unwonted suddenness and saw his smile, "I believe you like this better than discussion. You find it easier to be in harmony with Louisiana than with Louisianians, eh?" Frowenfeld colored with surprise. Something unpleasant had lately occurred in his shop. Was this to signify that M. Grandissime had heard of it?
Louis, and were well within the precincts of the little city, when, as they pulled up from a final gallop, mention was made of Doctor Keene. He was improving; Honoré had seen him that morning; so, at another hour, had Frowenfeld. Doctor Keene had told Honoré about Palmyre's wound. "You was at her house again this morning?" asked the Creole. "Yes," said Frowenfeld.
The straightforward Frowenfeld was much pleased with his reception. It was not possible for such as he to guess the ire with which his presence was secretly regarded.
Into slumber sank almost at the same moment Joseph Frowenfeld. He awoke, not a great while later, to find himself standing in the middle of the floor. Three or four men had shouted at once, and three pistol-shots, almost in one instant, had resounded just outside his shop.
"Professor Frowenfeld had the extraordinary misfortune this morning to incur the suspicion of having entered a house for the purpose of at least, for a bad design " "He is innocent!" came from Clotilde, against her intention; Aurora covertly put out a hand, and Clotilde clutched it nervously. "As, for example, robbery," said the self-recovered Aurora, ignoring Clotilde's look of protestation.
He saw the fortunes of his clan rallied meanwhile and coming to the rescue, himself and kindred growing independent of questionable titles, and even Fausse Rivière Plantation account restored, but Aurora and Clotilde nowhere to be found. And then he saw the grave, pale face of Joseph Frowenfeld. He threw himself forward, drew the paper nervously toward him, and stared at the figures.
I am glad," said the owner, receiving it, but keeping one hand still on the books. Frowenfeld put up his materials. "Mr. Frowenfeld, are these your books? I mean do you use these books?" "Yes, sir." The Creole stepped back to the door. "Agricola!" "Quoi!" "Vien ici." Citizen Fusilier entered, followed by a small volley of retorts from those with whom he had been disputing, and who rose as he did.
"And I must go back as soon as I can take a little sieste. I am determined to see him this very day." "Ah! my poor mother!" "No, Frowenfeld," said little Doctor Keene, speaking for the after-dinner loungers, "you must take a little human advice. Go, get the air on the Plaza. We will keep shop for you. Stay as long as you like and come home in any condition you think best."
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