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Updated: May 9, 2025
'Poleon frowned in deep perplexity. "Dere's doctor in dere now," he nodded toward the Gold Belt. "I'm goin' tak' him to her, but she mus' have woman for tak' care of her. Mebbe Madame la Comtesse " "Why, the Countess is gone! She left at daylight. Me 'n' the Kid are to follow as soon as we get our skiff fixed." "Gone?" "Sure!" "Sacre! De one decent woman in dis place, Wal!" 'Poleon shrugged.
Holding on to the stone balustrade, he turned to the southern tower, and cried "Hullo! Francis! Hallo!" After a while a reply came through the darkness. "Qui vive?" "Mont-joie Saint-Denis." "Sacre!" answered the other. "Ring the great bell! Ring, for heaven's sake!" The watchman remained standing for a while looking at the coloured lights on the church tower of St. Cloud.
His feelings found vent even as he came to the foot of the platform where he was to make his last stand, and the guards formed a square about the great pillars, glooming like Druidic altars. He burst forth in one phrase expressive of his feelings. "Sacre matin so damned paltry!" he said, in equal tribute to two races.
Cornudet saw the discomfort he was creating, and whistled the louder; sometimes he even hummed the words: Amour sacre de la patrie, Conduis, soutiens, nos bras vengeurs, Liberte, liberte cherie, Combats avec tes defenseurs!
Some day you'll have to tell it to the priest, and then " "I'll never tell it till I'm on my death-bed. Then I'll tell it, sacre bapteme, yes!" "You're a bad Catholic, Denzil," remarked Carnac with emotion, but a smile upon his face. "I may be a bad Catholic, but the man deserved to die, and he died.
Cigarette nodded and laughed. "Pretty fair, Tata; but I have heard better. Bah! a grand thing certainly, to fright a peasant, and scamper off with a goose!" "Sacre bleu!" grumbled Tata, who was himself of opinion that his exploit had been worthy of the feats of Harlequin; "thy heart is all gone to the Englishman." Cigarette laughed saucily and heartily, tickled at the joke.
However that might be, early on the morning of the 20th we received orders to cross the river in two strong columns and form on the opposite side; at the same time that a division was to pass the stream by boat two miles higher up, and, concealing themselves in a pine wood, be ready to take the enemy in flank, when they believed that all the force was in the front. "Sacre tonnerre!
But no sooner had the guide stepped into the building than he started back, crying, 'Sacre bleu! and ran out in the utmost alarm.
"Sacre!" muttered Gode, with true Gallic aspirate, as he handed the wet rag. I felt the cold application. Then a bunch of soft raw cotton, the best dressing it could have, was laid over the wound, and fastened by strips. The most skilful surgeon could have done no more. "Close as a clamp," added Saint Vrain, as he fastened the last pin, and placed me in the easiest position.
"Sacre nom de on reste donc claquemure ainsi toute la matinee! And all for an omelette a puny, good-for-nothing omelette. And you you've lost your tongue, it seems?" And a shrill voice pierced the air as Colinette gave her painter the hint of her prodding elbow. With the appearance of the omelette the reign of good humor would return.
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