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Updated: May 25, 2025
If some one had whispered to the opulent banker that his smile had anything in common with that of the printer's boy, who was enjoying himself by making a slide on the pavement, M. Godefroy would have been highly incensed.
The poor creatures had piled their robes at his feet as offerings to a god. "What did he give for the pelts, Godefroy?" I asked. "Words!" says Godefroy, with a grin, "gab and a drop o' rum diluted in a pot o' water!" "What is he saying to them now?" Godefroy shrugged his shoulders.
At the age of forty-two, when already worldly-wise and blasé, he had fancied himself in love with the daughter of one of his club friends Marquis de Neufontaine, an old rascal a nobleman, but one whose card-playing was more than open to suspicion, and who would have been expelled from the club more than once but for the influence of M. Godefroy, The nobleman was only too happy to become the father-in-law of a man who would pay his debts, and without any scruples he handed over his daughter a simple and ingenuous child of seventeen, who was taken from a convent to be married to the worldly banker.
"If there are no Indians, how much farther do we go, sir?" asked Godefroy sulkily on the eighth day. "Till we find them," answered M. Radisson. And we found them that night. A deer broke from the woods edging the sand where we camped and had almost bounded across our fire when an Indian darted out a hundred yards behind.
The first Crusade was headed by Godefroy de Bouillon, Duke of Lower Lorraine; Baldwin, his brother; Hugo the Great, brother of the King of France; Robert, Duke of Normandy, son of William the Conqueror; Raymond of St. Gilles, Duke of Toulouse; and Bohemond, Prince of Tarentum. Towards the end of 1097 A.D. the invading force invested Antioch, and, after a siege of nine months, took it by storm.
Our leader took the bow; Godefroy, the stern; Jean and I, the middle.
On that morning, which was the morning before Christmas, two important events happened simultaneously the sun rose, and so did M. Jean-Baptiste Godefroy.
Don't speak! Don't cry out! Perhaps we can stare them back till daylight comes!" Godefroy held quiet as death. Some subtle power of the man over the brute puzzled the leader of the pack. He shook his great head with angry snarls and slunk from side to side to evade the human eye, every hair of his fur bristling.
His cook, M. Dehors, pupil of the great Godefroy, was not the only French cook in the county; but his cousin and secretary, the rising scholar, the elegant essayist, was an unparalleled decoration; of his kind, of course. Personally, we laugh at him; you had better not, unless you are fain to show that the higher world of polite literature is unknown to you.
"Let the braves seize the furs of the Little White Sticks, trade the furs to the white-man for muskets, massacre the English, then when the great white chief's big canoes left, kill the Frenchmen of the fort." "Ha," says Godefroy. "Jack's safe outside! We'll have a care to serve you through the loop-holes, and trade you only broken muskets!"
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