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Updated: May 17, 2025
One night Florian there were Florian and Octave and Felix and Isidore and Emile the eldest, drew Medallion aside from the others, and they walked together by the river. Florian's air suggested confidence and mystery, and soon, with a voice of hushed suggestion, he told Medallion the romance of P'tite Louison.
British monitors lying close into shore were answering the German bombardment, firing over Nieuport to the dunes by Ostend. From one monitor came a group of figures with white masks of cotton-wool tipped with wet blood. British seamen, and all blind, with the dead body of an officer tied up in a sack.... "O Jesu!... O maman!... O ma pauvre p'tite femme!... O Jesu! O Jesu!"
One night Florian there were Florian and Octave and Felix and Isidore and Emile the eldest, drew Medallion aside from the others, and they walked together by the river. Florian's air suggested confidence and mystery, and soon, with a voice of hushed suggestion, he told Medallion the romance of P'tite Louison.
And each of the brothers at different times during the next fortnight did the same, differing scarcely at all in details, or choice of phrase or meaning, and not at all in general facts and essentials. But each, as he ended, made a different exclamation. "Voila, so sad, so wonderful! She keeps the ring dear P'tite Louison!" said Florian, the eldest. "Alors, she gives him a legacy in her will!
And that P'tite Louison, she kiss us hevery one, and say to M'sieu' Hadrian, 'Charles, I love you, but I cannot go. He laugh at her, and say, 'Voila! we will take them all with us: and P'tite Louison she laugh. That night a thing happen. The Cure come, and he look ver' mad, and he frown and he say to M'sieu' Hadrian before us all, 'M'sieu', you are married.
He not seem like the other men she know; but he have a sharp look, he is smooth in the face, and he smile kind like a woman. P'tite Louison, she give him her hand, and they run away, and every one stop to look. It is a gran' sight. M'sieu' Hadrian laugh, and his teeth shine, and the ladies say things of him, and he tell P'tite Louison that she look ver' fine, and walk like a queen.
They sang: Maid Marian, setting forth to find The mill, with sacks of corn to grind, Her donkey, Jan, bestrode. My dainty maiden, Marian, She mounted on her donkey, Jan, And took the mill-ward road.* * Marian' s'en allant au moulin, Pour y faire moudre son grain, Ell monta sur son âne, Ma p'tite mam'sell' Marianne! Ell' monta sur son âne Martin Pour aller au moulin.
The way that my little one come. Which is the good path over the hills? The path that leads to my little one's home To my little one's home, m'sieu', m'sieu'! "That did it. 'Corinne, ma p'tite Corinne! he said; but he did not look at me only stretch out his hands.
The Church cannot marry you again, and I command Louison to give you up. "P'tite Louison stan' like stone. M'sieu' turn to her. 'What shall it be, Louison? he say. 'You will come with me? "'Kiss me, Charles, she say, 'and tell me good-bye till till you are free. "He look like a madman. 'Kiss me once, Charles, she say, 'and let me go.
"Attends! what love what history what passion! the perfect P'tite Louison!" cried Emile, the youngest, the most sentimental. "Ah, Moliere!" he added, as if calling on the master to rise and sing the glories of this daughter of romance. Isidore's tale was after this fashion: "I ver' well remember the first of it; and the last of it who can tell? He was an actor oh, so droll, that!
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