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Updated: May 28, 2025
I did not talk too much nonsense before you just now, did I? I should be so sorry " "No, my child, I heard nothing." "Well, we will take the longest way round." After having turned to the left in the wood, Paul resumed his communications. "I was saying, Monsieur l'Abbe," he went on, "that you are wrong to take things so seriously. Shall I tell you what I think? This is a very fortunate affair."
And seven of them have recognised among these twenty-two dead, one a son, one a son-in-law, one a brother. Will you come, Monsieur l'Abbé, and say a few words to these poor fellows?" So the Abbé goes to the new-made grave, reads the De Profundis, says a prayer, gives the benediction, and then speaks. Tears are on the strong, rugged faces of the bare-headed Bretons, as they gather round him.
He has told them that M. l'Abbe and Mademoiselle are brother and daughter to a great Bey but it is little they care for that. Holy Virgin, they took Mademoiselle for a boy! That is why they are gazing at her so impudently. Would that I could give them a taste of my cane! Do you see those broken walls, and a bit of a castle on yonder headland jutting out into the sea?
M. l'abbé Verreau, the much regretted principal of the Jacques Cartier Normal School, appreciates in these terms the services rendered to education by Mother Bourgeoys, a woman eminent from all points of view: "The Congregation of Notre-Dame," says he, "is a truly national institution, whose ramifications extend beyond the limits of Canada.
And here it is that 'La Faute de l'Abbe Mouret' opens in the old ruinous church, perched upon a hillock in full view of the squalid village, the arid fields, and the great belts of rock which shut in the landscape all around.
"Monsieur Pradel, it is imperative that the walls of the Abbaye should appear inscrutable, of great thickness, and yet subtilized by the mists of coming night. A pale-gold sky " "Monsieur l'Abbé Mirabelle," resumed Madame Doulce, "is a priest of the highest distinction " "Monsieur Marc, are you particularly keen on your pale-gold sky?" inquired the stage manager.
But, begad! sir," he added, as Chauvelin had surreptitiously looked at his watch for the third time, "that watch of yours won't go any faster for all the looking you give it. You are expecting a friend, maybe?" "Aye a friend!" "Not a lady I trust, Monsieur l'Abbe," laughed Blakeney; "surely the holy church does not allow? . . . eh? . . . what!
Then she promptly started on the stories of Toussaint's attack and her son Charles's ill-luck. But Celine broke in: "I say, mamma, the factory where papa used to work is here in this street, isn't it? Monsieur l'Abbe has some business there."*
Amidst all his feverishness he had not thought of these difficulties. However, he was approaching the door on foot, asking himself how he might glide unperceived through the throng, when the sound of a merry voice made him turn: "What, Monsieur l'Abbe! Is it possible! So now I find you here!" It was little Massot who spoke.
"Isn't it ridiculous, Monsieur l'Abbe," she said, turning towards Pierre, "for an old maid like myself to blush in that fashion? People might think that I had committed a crime. It's simply to make me blush, you know, that those children tease me. I do all I can to prevent it, but it's stronger than my will."
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