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Updated: June 14, 2025
He knew how to heat the pot and make the soup when there was any to make. He knew where to dig for clams and sputtering crabs. It was the bread that bothered him most it cost two sous. It was Tanrade who discovered and softened these hard details. The house in which the fisherman and the little boy live is tucked away in an angle of the walled lane leading out to the marsh.
How he does love to shoot and what a rattling good shot he is! Neither Tanrade nor myself, and we have shot with him day in and day out on the marsh and during rough nights in his gabion, has ever beaten him. On we flew, past the hamlet of Fourche-la-Ville, past Javonne, past Les Roses. Sacristi! I thought, what if the gasoline gave out or the spark refused to sparkle, what if they had Why worry?
They had banished Tanrade, who had offered his clumsy help and spilled the sardines. He had climbed on the roof and dropped pebbles down on them through the cracks and had later begged forgiveness through the key-hole.
The gendarmes gravely saluted and were about to withdraw when Tanrade asked if he was "the only unfortunate on the list." "Ah, non!" confessed the tall one. "There is a similar charge against Monsieur le Vicomte we have just called upon him. Also against Monsieur le Baron." "And what did they say?" "Eh bien, monsieur, a general denial, just as monsieur has made."
"I was not in his sacré buckwheat!" declared Tanrade, and he described the entire incident of the morning. "Take monsieur's denial in detail," commanded the tall one. His companion produced a small bottle of ink and began to write slowly with a scratchy pen, while we stood in silence. "Kindly add your signature, monsieur," said the tall one, when the bottle was again recorked. Tanrade signed.
"Monsieur Gaston Emile Le Bour, agriculturist at Hirondelette, charges Monsieur Charles Louis Ernest Tanrade, born in Paris, soldier of the Thirteenth Infantry, musician, composer, with flagrant trespass in his buckwheat on hectare number seven, armed with the gun of percussion on the thirtieth of September at ten-forty-five in the morning."
At this instant I started to take a long breath of pure morning air and hesitated, then I caught the alert eye of the chauffeur, who was grinning. "What are you burning? Fish oil?" said I. "Mon Dieu, monsieur " began the chauffeur. "Cheese," called down the curé, pointing to a round paper parcel on the roof of the limousine. "Tanrade got it at daylight; woke up the whole village getting it."
Tanrade has told me much. You know as well as I do, the village is a nest of gossip that they make a mountain out of a molehill; if I were a pirate chief and had captured this vagabond port, I'd have a few of those wagging tongues taken out and keel-hauled in the bay." He started as if in pain, and again turned his haggard eyes to mine.
"Guess! One does not have to guess when one sees as good Burgundy as that. You see I know it." She stretched forth her firm white arms to the blaze. "Where is he, that good-for-nothing fellow?" she asked. "In the garden after some astragon for the salad." She tripped to the half-open door leading to the tangled maze of paths. "Tanrade! Tanrade! Bonsoir, ami!" she called.
There will be no Suzette to put you there soon, and there is now no Alice, nor Tanrade to spoil you. They are gone, pussy kit." One o'clock and the fire in embers. I rose and Mr. Bear followed me out into the garden. The land lay still and cold under millions of stars. High above my chimney came faintly the "Honk, honk," of a flock of geese.
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