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Updated: May 22, 2025
Piero grinned for reply. "Well! let him be his care, and you had better stay at hand here. Give me the key of the gate, and, remember, a hundred crowns apiece to you and Malsain for this. And now for a word in the Vidame's ear." With this he turned back into the house, leaving Piero looking after him. "A hun dred crowns apiece! Diavolo! Captain Torquato!
"You will make your wound worse, excellency. Be calm! There is time for things to mend." "Time! When the whole affair has been bungled and by you." "By me, excellency?" "Yes; if you had given me Piero and Malsain instead of those serving-wenches Billot and La Crotte." Torquato lifted a deprecating hand.
"An evil-looking man," Pierrebon thought, as he glanced at Malsain sitting on a stool; and evil-looking indeed he was, with his hawk's face, thin cruel slit of a mouth, and one wicked eye that glowed with the same sombre fire as the fuse of his arquebus, which leaned against the wall behind him. And then from the man himself Pierrebon glanced at the hermit's fare before him. "St.
And Malsain, his poniard in his hand, stood near the table, glaring savagely at Pierrebon. "Pardon!" said Pierrebon. "I was but looking at it. 'Tis a noble weapon. And one well suited to a soldier's hand." "It could kill too, I wager," said Pierrebon, laughing, as he raised the weapon, and pointed it at Malsain, who went back the step he had taken, saying, with an oath, "It is loaded, fool!
At last, unable to endure this more, he stopped rubbing down the brown hackney, and, stepping up to the table, took a seat on a stool opposite Malsain. Then, drawing his dagger, he helped himself without further ceremony to some cheese and bread, and glanced somewhat ruefully into the jug of water. "Diable!" grumbled Malsain, "you are eating my supper."
Then, placing the arquebus at his feet, he drew his dagger and approached Malsain, upon whom he sat, and with a gentle prick or so reminded him it was unsafe to struggle or cry. He fastened up his free arm, and finished off the work in an artistic manner. When it was over Malsain was like a trussed fowl.
Put it down at once." "Hein! it is loaded. It would kill, then, if I fired eh?" And then, with a sudden change of voice and manner: "Ah, bandit! move a step, utter the slightest cry, and you are a dead man! Throw down your poniard!" Malsain looked at the barrel of the arquebus.
I remembered in this abode a passage in one of the best letters ever written by Rousseau, and addressed to Voltaire, on the subject of his poem, entitled Sur la Loi Naturelle, et sur le Désastre de Lisbonne; in which, referring to an assertion of Voltaire's that few persons would wish to live over again on the condition of enduring the same trials, and which Rousseau combats by urging that it is only the rich, fatigued by their pleasures, or literary men, of whom he writes "Des gens de lettres, de tous les ordres d'hommes le plus sédentaire, le plus malsain, le plus réfléchissant, et, par conséquent, le plus malheureux," who would decline to live over again, had they the power.
Pierrebon stepped back, and surveyed his work with the satisfaction of one who knows that he has done well. "Ah, I had forgotten!" he exclaimed. Then he pulled from his pocket a 'kerchief. A touch at Malsain's throat with his poniard was hint enough. Malsain opened his mouth, and the handkerchief, rolled into a ball, was thrust inside.
"I do not allude to an animal fever, but to the western fever." "Ce pays de l'ouest, est-il bien malsain?" whispered Mademoiselle Viefville. "Apparemment, Mademoiselle, sur plusieurs rapports."
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