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Updated: May 6, 2025
He used to describe himself as 'thoroughly cured and seasoned, and to predict that he would 'last a good while yet. But, one day in December, a subject of remark in the Boul' Miche was Bibi's absence; and before nightfall the news went abroad that he had been found on the turf, under a tree, in the Avenue de l'Observatoire, dead from a coup de sang, and that he was now lying exposed to the gaze of the curious in the little brick house behind Notre Dame.
Madame La Miche and her husband run a big stock farm near Neuilly St. Front, some fifteen miles from Villiers. I had often seen her at poultry and agricultural shows, where their farm products usually carried off any number of prizes. It was she who sold me my cows hardly a year since. "You?" I said, as she drew up to the steps. "Yes. En route like all the others.
Two little short-skirted, bare-legged girls were playing near him. He spoke to them in French. Did they know where Monsieu' Itchlin lived? The two children repeated the name, looking inquiringly at each other. "Non, miché." "No, sir, they didn't know." "Qui reste ici?" he asked. "Who lives here?" "Ici? Madame qui reste l
"'Tis a good idy," responded the banker. "I kin mague you de troub' to kib dad will fo' me, Miché Vignevielle?" "Yez." She looked up with grateful re-assurance; but her eyes dropped again as she said: "Miché Vignevielle " Here she choked, and began her peculiar motion of laying folds in the skirt of her dress, with trembling fingers.
She lifted her eyes, and as they met the look of deep and placid kindness that was in his face, some courage returned, and she said: "Miché." "Wad you wand?" asked he, gently. "If it arrive to me to die " "Yez?" Her words were scarcely audible: "I wand you teg kyah my lill' girl." "You 'ave one lill' gal, Madame Carraze?" She nodded with her face down. "An' you godd some mo' chillen?" "No."
"Miché," she replied, looking up again with a tear standing in either eye, and then looking down once more as she began to speak, "I thing I thing she's lonesome." "You thing?" She nodded. "Ah! Madame Carraze," he said, partly extending his hand, "you see? 'Tis impossible to mague you' owze shud so tighd to priv-en dad. Madame, I med one mizteg." "Ah, non, Miché!" "Yez.
She sank, trembling, into her chair. "Oh, no, no," she continued, shaking her head, "'tis not Miché Vignevielle w'at's crezzie." Her eyes lighted with sudden fierceness. "'Tis dad law! Dad law is crezzie! Dad law is a fool!" A priest of less heart-wisdom might have replied that the law is the law; but Père Jerome saw that Madame Delphine was expecting this very response.
M. Jules St.-Ange stood long, gazing at the receding vessel as it now disappeared, now reappeared beyond the tops of the high undergrowth; but, when an arm of the forest hid it finally from sight, he turned townward, followed by that fagged-out spaniel, his servant, saying, as he turned, "Baptiste." "Miche?" "You know w'at I goin' do wid dis money?" "Non, m'sieur."
And they went away, Madame Delphine's spirit grown so exaltedly bold that she said as they went, though a violent blush followed her words: "Miché Vignevielle, I thing Père Jerome mighd be ab'e to tell you someboddie." Madame Delphine found her house neither burned nor rifled. "Ah! ma piti sans popa! Ah! my little fatherless one!"
"Miché," she replied, looking up again with a tear standing in either eye, and then looking down once more as she began to speak, "I thing I thing she's lonesome." "You thing?" She nodded. "Ah! Madame Carraze," he said, partly extending his hand, "you see? 'Tis impossible to mague you' owze shud so tighd to priv-en dad. Madame, I med one mizteg." "Ah, non, Miché!" "Yez.
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