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Updated: July 11, 2025
The next day, a little after nightfall, one might have descried this little man slipping along the rear fence of the Poquelin place, preparatory to vaulting over into the rank, grass-grown yard, and bearing himself altogether more after the manner of a collector of rare chickens than according to the usage of secretaries. The picture presented to his eye was not calculated to enliven his mind.
Jacques had begged him hard for many days not to go, but he laughed him off, and finally said, kissing him: "Adieu, 'tit frère." "No," said Jacques, "I shall go with you." They left the old hulk of a house in the sole care of the African mute, and went away to the Guinea coast together. Two years after, old Poquelin came home without his vessel. He must have arrived at his house by night.
"You will have to see the municipal authorities about that, Mr. Poquelin." A bitter smile came upon the old man's face: "Pardon, Monsieur, you is not le Gouverneur?" "Yes." "Mais, yes. You har le Gouverneur yes. Veh-well. I come to you. I tell you, strit can't pass at me 'ouse." "But you will have to see" "I come to you. You is le Gouverneur. I know not the new laws. I ham a Fr-r-rench-a-man!
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