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Updated: May 1, 2025
"What is this, sister?" said Agnes to Gauchere, gazing at the little creature exposed, which was screaming and writhing on the wooden bed, terrified by so many glances. "What is to become of us," said Jehanne, "if that is the way children are made now?" "I'm not learned in the matter of children," resumed Agnes, "but it must be a sin to look at this one." "'Tis not a child, Agnes."
His instructions as to how to make a husband comfortable positively palpitate with life; and at the same time there is something indescribably homely and touching about them; they tell more about the real life of a burgess's wife than a hundred tales of Patient Griselda or of Jehanne la Quentine.
"I adopt this child," said the priest. He took it in his cassock and carried it off. The spectators followed him with frightened glances. A moment later, he had disappeared through the "Red Door," which then led from the church to the cloister. When the first surprise was over, Jehanne de la Tarme bent down to the ear of la Gaultiere,
Once upon a time, there lived on the borders of a forest an old woman named Jehanne, who had an only son, a youth of twenty-one years, who was called Ranier. Where the two had originally come from no one knew; but they had lived in their little hut for many years.
They were Agnes la Herme, Jehanne de la Tarme, Henriette la Gaultiere, Gauchere la Violette, all four widows, all four dames of the Chapel Etienne Haudry, who had quitted their house with the permission of their mistress, and in conformity with the statutes of Pierre d'Ailly, in order to come and hear the sermon.
"How innocent that poor la Herme is!" resumed Jehanne; "don't you see, sister, that this little monster is at least four years old, and that he would have less appetite for your breast than for a turnspit." The "little monster" we should find it difficult ourselves to describe him otherwise, was, in fact, not a new-born child.
Yet she shuddered. He saw it. His face, too, was paper, and Francois laughed horribly. "If I still love you! Go, ask of Denise, of Jacqueline, or of Pierrette, of Marion the Statue, of Jehanne of Brittany, of Blanche Slippermaker, of Fat Peg, ask of any trollop in all Paris how Francois Villon loves. You thought me faithful! You thought that I especially preferred you to any other bed-fellow!
"We shall see Buonaparte the bastard Kick heels with his throat in a rope." One has an uneasy feeling that William Morris would have written something like "And the kin of the ill king Bonaparte Hath a high gallows for all his part." Rossetti could, for once in a way, write poetry about a real woman and call her "Jenny." One has a disturbed suspicion that Morris would have called her "Jehanne."
"This pretended foundling is a real monster of abomination," resumed Jehanne. "He yells loud enough to deafen a chanter," continued Gauchere. "Hold your tongue, you little howler!" "To think that Monsieur of Reims sent this enormity to Monsieur of Paris," added la Gaultiere, clasping her hands.
"Perhaps that will prevent the queen from coming to Paris in the month of September," interposed another; "trade is so bad already." "My opinion is," exclaimed Jehanne de la Tarme, "that it would be better for the louts of Paris, if this little magician were put to bed on a fagot than on a plank." "A fine, flaming fagot," added the old woman. "It would be more prudent," said Mistricolle.
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