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Updated: June 11, 2025
The international susceptibilities of Sheriff DRURIOLANUS henceforth to bear the Anglo-French title, Monsieur le Shérif 'Arris de Paris, or 'Arry de Parry, appear to have been considerably hurt by a statement in the Débats to the effect that the appearance in the London streets of men dressed as Gendarmes "en gendarmes français," writes MOSSOO DRURIOLANE intended as perambulating advertisements for the Waterloo Panorama, was due to a supreme effort of his managerial genius. So Shérif DRURIOLANE wrote at once to the London Correspondent of the Figaro, who bears the singularly French name of JOHNSON, denying, in his very best French, that he, M. le Shérif, had had anything to do with these walking advertisements, or, indeed, with the Panorama Company at all, from which he had retired a year ago. Then he adds, like the preux chevalier he is known to be, that had he still been on the direction of the aforesaid Compagnie, he, at all events, would never, never have committed the enormity of even suggesting, however vaguely, an idea so calculated to needlessly insult "les susceptibilités françaises." ("Hear! hear!" and "Très bien!" from the left.) Then M. le Shérif DRURIOLANE, rising to the occasion, finishes with this magnificent flourish on the French horn "Je suit né en France" (Isn't it very much "to his credit," we ask with W.S.G., that, "In spite of all temptations, To belong to other nations, He remains an Englishman?" Why, certainly) "j'ai vécu parmi les Français, et je suis
Why should such a thing follow him? What could it be?... He had an inspiration. "Uv course!" he said. It was the shadow of the balloon. But he still watched it dubiously for a time. He returned to the plans on the table. He spent a long afternoon between his struggles to understand them and fits of meditation. He evolved a remarkable new sentence in French. "Voici, Mossoo!
Now, Mossoo, you put her about, and run for Plymouth. She may do it. Pitch over a couple of guns forr'ad, and quit messing with a ship you don't understand, an' I'll warn she will do it." The young Frenchy was plucky as ginger. "What! Take her into Plymouth, and be made prisoner. I'll sink first!" says he.
I've heard his people call him "Pet"! He has no proper sense of shame; He told the chaps his Christian name. He cannot wicket-keep at all, He's frightened of a cricket ball. He reads indoors for hours and hours. He knows the names of beastly flowers. He says his French just like Mossoo A beastly stuck-up thing to do He won't keep cave, shirks his turn And says he came to school to learn!
'On the top, they say, 'is Mossoo, the Governor, with a heavy club to rap the staff; the staff, for revenge, canes the soldier; the soldier clubs the settler, and he hammers the Arab; the Arab smites the Negro, the Negro beats the Jew, and he takes it out of the donkey.
Quite unconscious of making a lucky hit, he took it in his mouth, carried it to her, and placed it with gentle care close to her ear. This time Mossoo had done the right thing, for when she saw what he had brought, a watery little smile gleamed through baby's tears, her sobs ceased, she sat up and seized the clog triumphantly.
She came over from France, come a fortnight to-morrow; she and the gentleman they call Mossoo Deroulede. They both saw the Scarlet Pimpernel and spoke to him. He brought them over from France. They why won't they say?" "Say what?" commented Johnny Cullen, the apprentice. "Who this mysterious Scarlet Pimpernel is."
Mossoo was not so indifferent; he had watched the whole affair, and if he did not understand why the baby cried, at least he knew she was in trouble. True he had not seen a stick used, but here was the same result. He went and sat down near her, and wagged his tail to show he sympathised, but as she was lying on her face she did not even know he was there, and the sobs continued.
Madame Gautier opens all our letters, and friendships weren't invented when she was young either. Good-bye." Vernon had to go towards the strong English voice that was filling the hall with its inquiries for "Ung Mossoo ung mossoo Anglay qui avoir certainmong etty icy ce mattan."
At Seraminta seated in the cart with her knees almost as high as her nose, and her yellow handkerchief twisted round her head; at the dark Perrin, striding along by the donkey's side; at Mossoo, still adorned with his last dancing ribbon, but ragged and shabby, and so very very tired that he limped along on three legs; at the brown children among the bundles in the cart; and finally at baby.
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