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Updated: May 9, 2025
"Then, good-evening to the company!" said the dyer; and, addressing Mother Bunch, he added: "Don't forget the letter for M. Dagobert. I durstn't touch it for fear of leaving the marks of my four fingers and thumb in amaranthine! But, good evening to the company!" and Father Loriot went out. "M. Dagobert, here is a letter," said Mother Bunch.
"On my word, mother, I don't know and scarcely care; I tried to persuade Daddy Loriot, who chatters like a magpie, to return to his cellar, since it could signify as little to him as to me, whether a spy watched him or not." So saying, Agricola went and placed the little leathern sack, containing his wages, on a shelf, in the cupboard.
"Dye my pet yellow!" cried Mrs. Grivois, in great wrath, as she descended from the hackney-coach, clasping My Lord tenderly to her bosom, and surveying Father Loriot with a savage look. "I told you, Mrs. Baudoin is not at home," said the dyer, as he saw the pug-dog's mistress advance in the direction of the dark staircase. "Never mind; I will wait for her," said Mrs. Grivois tartly.
Then, on Sundays, we will take a nice dinner at the eating-house." A knocking at the door disturbed Agricola. "Come in," said he. Instead of doing so, some one half-opened the door, and, thrusting in an arm of a pea-green color, made signs to the blacksmith. "'Tis old Loriot, the pattern of dyers," said Agricola; "come in, Daddy, no ceremony."
Thus 'lierre, ivy, was written by Ronsard, 'l'hierre, which is correct, being the Latin 'hedera. 'Lingot' is our 'ingot, but with fusion of the article; in 'larigot' and 'loriot' the word and the article have in the same manner grown together. In old French it was l'endemain, or, le jour en demain: 'le lendemain, as now written, is a barbarous excess of expression.
It must be confessed, however, that the excellent mother thought less of herself, than of the grief which her son must feel in thinking over her deplorable position. At this moment there was a knock at the door. "Who is there?" said Frances. "It is me Father Loriot." "Come in," said Dagobert's wife. The dyer, who also performed the functions of a porter, appeared at the door of the room.
"On my word, mother, I don't know and scarcely care; I tried to persuade Daddy Loriot, who chatters like a magpie, to return to his cellar, since it could signify as little to him as to me, whether a spy watched him or not." So saying, Agricola went and placed the little leathern sack, containing his wages, on a shelf, in the cupboard.
"Then, good-evening to the company!" said the dyer; and, addressing Mother Bunch, he added: "Don't forget the letter for M. Dagobert. I durstn't touch it for fear of leaving the marks of my four fingers and thumb in amaranthine! But, good evening to the company!" and Father Loriot went out. "M. Dagobert, here is a letter," said Mother Bunch.
Grivois, that Frances Baudoin did in fact live in the house, but that she was at present from home. The arms, hands, and part of the face of Father Loriot were now of a superb gold-color. The sight of this yellow personage singularly provoked My Lord, and at the moment the dyer rested his hand upon the edge of the coach-window, the cur began to yelp frightfully, and bit him in the wrist.
No doubt Noriot shared the plunder with the Committee of Public Salvation, as that sort of person always did. I recollect the steward telling my grandmother that she might live at Grandvilliers in complete security, because her corn was as good as a certificate of civism. Well, then, this Loriot, who sold corn to those butchers, has never had but one passion, they say he idolizes his daughters.
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