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"Enough, enough, my good Poussette!" cried Ringfield, jumping up as he heard feminine voices nearing their retreat. "Your virtuous resolutions do you credit, and may you be enabled to perform and carry them through if not to the letter at least in the spirit." "And you don't think me bad, low kind of garçon, eh?" "I do not, indeed."
Ringfield, what it means, and our young lady in front there has learnt in a bitter school the value of money. Cassette cassette cash-box; you will see, if she ever settles down, it will be, as our friend Poussette says, for the money."
As Ringfield went in to his "good tea" Madame Poussette came out. Rather to his astonishment, she sang to herself in passing, and although her sad vacant eyes were not bent on him, he felt as if the words were intended for his ear. What were those words? His knowledge of French was limited, but still he could make out a kind of rhyming refrain "Derrière Chez mon père Il-y-avait un grand oiseau."
"And you you shall preach the first sermon. How long does it take to build nice church, nice pretty Methodist church not like that big stone barn I used to go to Mass in?" At this the Reverend Joshua Ringfield did more than smile. He threw back his fine head and laughed heartily. "Oh Poussette!" he cried; "you're the funniest fellow, the funniest man alive!
"I have come over just for a chat," he finally said, "if you are not too much engaged. I have a good deal of time on my hands, and I'm trying to get to know the people around. I am speaking to Mr. Crabbe, I think?" "You are not sure, eh? Want to apologize for calling me a low fellow to mine host Poussette, I expect! Well, come in and have your chat.
Ignace, in the handsome church designated by the heretic Poussette as a "big stone barn full of bad pictures". Finally there emerged upon the scene, proceeding in a deliberate, dainty, mincing manner along the garden walk, now rapidly drying in a burst of fierce August sunshine, the most wonderful, the most imposing, yet the most exquisite and delicate object Ringfield's eyes had ever beheld.
And Ringfield could not refuse to examine the fine head of black hair thrust towards him. He was touched in spite of clerical scruples. "No, no, certainly not a bad thing," he said gently, "not at all an unnatural thing. I think I understand, Poussette, I can see " and Ringfield seemed to feel something in his throat, at any rate he coughed and hesitated.
With an injured expression, and a rapidity amazing for so fat a man, Poussette slipped round behind the counter and brought out two bottles of ginger ale; in a twinkling the tall tumblers were ready and he offered one to Ringfield with a deep and exaggerated bow. "Ah I see. I beg your pardon, Poussette. I thought you meant the other kind. Of course I will drink with you and with pleasure."
There was a very attractive supper ready for her in a private room, where Miss Cordova was also present in her Spanish costume, a giddy chaperone who soon retired and left the two together, and Pauline could hardly credit the fact that Crabbe was genuinely sober, clad in his irreproachable evening suit, his hair neatly brushed with a kind of military cut, and his features composed and pleased, recalling much of what he had been when first they met; and she also observed with much surprise that Poussette was present at the feast altogether in the character of menial and inferior, with his coat off, bustling about with the glasses, corkscrews and towels.
Antoine spoke in voluble French in accompaniment to Poussette's gestures, and at the words she drooped appallingly. "Come, Pauline, perhaps it will not be so terrible after all. You were going to visit him this week anyway." "I know, I know, but this is different, dreadful, startling. It makes me so I cannot describe. Who is with him? Only Mlle. Poussette! Oh, why why?
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