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Updated: June 14, 2025
Three young officers are stopping at Monsieur le Curé's, who has returned from the sick roses of his friend; and Tanrade has a colonel and two lieutenants beneath his roof.
There would be the same Tanrade again and the same Alice, and they would be married by the curé in the little gray church with the cracked bell, with the marquis and the marquise as notables in the front pew. In my enthusiasm I saw it all. The lane back of the House Abandoned shortens the way to the château by half a kilometre.
"Howling northeast gale" Tanrade read aloud "Duck and geese come midnight train, bring two hundred fours, one hundred double zeros for ten bore." "Vive le curé!" I shouted, "the good old boy to let us know. A northeast gale at last a howler," he says. "He is charming the curé," breathed Alice, her breast heaving "Charming!" she repeated in a voice full of suppressed emotion.
Together, the curé and I carried the basket, now plentifully filled with oysters back to the kitchen, while Tanrade was hailed from the pavilion, much to the little maid's despair. "Dépêchez-vous!" cried Alice, who had straightway embraced her exiled Tanrade on his return and was now waving a summons to the curé and myself.
Tanrade, another illustrious purveyor, furnished the refreshments. "Don't be worried," said Cesar to his wife, observing her uneasiness on the day before the great event, "Chevet, Tanrade, and the cafe Foy will occupy the entresol, Virginie will take charge of the second floor, the shop will be closed; all we shall have to do is to enshrine ourselves on the first floor."
And Tanrade, that big, whole-souled musician, with his snug old house and his two big dogs, either one of which would make mince-meat of you should you have the misfortune to mistake his garden for your own. Madame de Bréville do you hear? who has but to half close her eyes to make Tanrade forget his name. He loves her madly, you see, pussy-kit! Ah, yes! The lost village!
"The affair is ridiculous," exclaimed Tanrade hotly. "That must be seen," returned the tall one firmly. Again we all saluted and they left us, recovered their bicycles, and went spinning off back to Pont du Sable. "Nom d'un chien!" muttered Tanrade, while the curé and I stared thoughtfully at a clump of grass. "Why didn't he get me?" I ventured, after a moment. "Foreigner," explained Tanrade.
I turned the knob and entered his den a dingy little box of a room, sunk a step below the level of the kitchen, with a smoke-grimed ceiling and corners littered with dusty books and pamphlets. He was sitting with his back to me, humped up in a worn arm-chair, before his small stove, just as Tanrade had found him.
Tanrade and I had arrived early the mayor greeting us at the gate of his trim little garden, and ushering us to our chairs in the clean, well-worn kitchen, with as much solemnity as if there had been a death in the house. Here we sat, under the low ceiling of rough beams and waited in a funereal silence, broken only by the slow ticking of the tall clock in the corner.
When the little boy of the fisherman, Jean Tranchard, was not to be found playing with the other barelegged tots in the mud of the village alleys, or wandering alone on the marsh, often dangerously near the sweep of the incoming tide, one could be quite sure he was safe with Tanrade.
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