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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Guess who's wrote me a letter?" she asked of Guida, who had taken up some sewing, and was now industriously regarding the stitches. At Carterette's question, Guida looked up and said with a smile, "Some one you like, I see." Carterette laughed gaily. "Ba su, I should think I did in a way. But what's his name? Come, guess, Ma'm'selle Dignity."
He stopped short on seeing Detricand. They knew each other slightly, and they bowed. Philip frowned. He saw that something had occurred between the two. Detricand on his part realised the significance of that familiar "Guida!" called from outside. He took up his cap. "It is greeting and good-bye, I am just off for France," he said.
A drop of cider, if you please, mademoiselle, before I begin to read it to you, if I may if I may eh?" They all nodded eagerly. Guida handed him a mogue of cider.
The child looked up quaintly at her, and with the same whimsical smile which Guida had given to another so many years ago, he looked at Ranulph and said: "Pardon, monsieur." "Coum est qu'on etes, m'sieu'?" said Ranulph in another patois greeting. Guida shook her head reprovingly.
They rose to go. Guida looked about her. Was it all a dream-all that had happened to her, and around her? The world was sweet to look upon, and yet was it true that here before her eyes there had been war, and that out of war peril must come to her. A week ago she was free as air, happy as healthy body, truthful mind, simple nature, and tender love can make a human being.
She turned and saw nearing the shore from the Rue d'Egypte a half-dozen sailors, singing cheerily: "Get you on, get you on, get you on, Get you on to your fo'c'stle'ome; Leave your lassies, leave your beer, For the bugle what you 'ear Pipes you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome 'Ome 'ome 'ome, Pipes you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome." Guida drew near.
" Guida Landresse de Landresse, that you will never again drink wine to excess, and that you will never do anything that" she paused confused. "That you would not wish me to do," he said in a low voice. "That I should not wish you to do," she repeated in a half-embarrassed way. "On my honour I promise," he said slowly. A strange feeling came over her.
It was from the Chevalier's lips he had learned the whole course of Guida's life during the four years of his absence from the island. It was the Chevalier who drew for him pictures of Guida in her new home, none other than the house of Elie Mattingley, which the Royal Court having confiscated now handed over to her as an act of homage.
A drop of cider, if you please, mademoiselle, before I begin to read it to you, if I may if I may eh?" They all nodded eagerly. Guida handed him a mogue of cider.
I always was. When I was fifteen I was sent away from home because I liked the stables and the kitchen too well. Also I fell in love with the cook." Guida flushed, frowned, her lips tightened, then presently a look of amusement broke over her face, and she burst out laughing. "Why do you tell me these things?" she said.
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