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Updated: June 25, 2025
"V'la!" he observed, with the satisfied air of a man who has successfully performed a difficult conjuring trick. He smiled at Sally expectantly, as though confident of applause from this section of his audience at least. But Sally's face was set and rigid. She had been snubbed, and the sensation was as pleasant as it was novel. "I think Mr. Kemp had hard luck," she said.
"Why, you, of course; you brought her here." "No, I didn't. I never saw her until I noticed her being pushed about by the crowd." He caught the girl's eye and colored furiously, hoping she did not suspect the nature of their discussion. Before her helplessness it seemed so brutal. The cab drew up before the Obelisk and a gruff voice cried, "V'la! M'ssieurs! 'dames!"
He found suddenly that her eyes were looking into his with trembling eagerness. "I don't know what to do," he said carelessly. "I wonder if it's safe to go on deck." She turned away from him petulantly and led the way up the ladder. "Oh, v'la le camarade," cried the old man who was leaning with all his might against the long tiller of the barge. "Come and help me."
"Black beganne," she cried; "how dare you! V'la into your pocket with it!" He did as he was bid, humming to himself again: "M'sieu' de la Palisse is dead, Dead of a maladie; Quart' of an hour before his death He could breathe like you and mel Ah bah, the poor M'sieu' De la Palisse is dead!" "Shut up! Man doux d'la vie, you chatter like a monkey!"
Strange, that the porter does not say, 'V'la', M'sieu'! Strange, that the evening papers I buy at the bookstall are printed in the English language. Strange, that London still holds my body, when a corduroyed magician has whisked my soul verily into Paris.
And the painter have you got him, too?" She stared at him, bewildered. "The painter? The painter of the picture?" "Of course," said Rufin. "Who else?" "But " she looked from him to the benign official, who had the air of presiding at a ceremony. "Then you don't know? You haven't heard?" Comprehension lit in her face; she uttered a wretched little laugh. "Ah, v'la de la comedie!" she cried.
V'la l'joli vent! On and on you go, faster and faster, and you forget the world, and you forget yourself, and the devil is with you in the air in the chasse-galerie on the Kimash River." "Jo," said Charley Steele, "do you honestly think there's a river like that?" 'M'sieu', I know it.
"V'la Monseigneur!" called out Pierre, our coachman, on the pier, the lineaments of whose face half seemed a memory suddenly grown vivid and real. "Mon Dieu!" he cried laughing and crying, as he looked at me closely, "It's M'sieu Chamilly! My dear child, it was painful to have you absent so long. Why did you not come even to see us? Please give me your hand again. But how you are loaded!
Come, where is your valise? Let me do something for you, M'sieu Chamilly." "Les v'la!" "V'la Monseigneur!" "V'la M'sieu Chamilly!" the shouts went up.
He was accustomed to do it with a flourish, and generally remarked "V'la!" in a modest but self-congratulatory voice as though he would have liked to see another man who could have put through a job like that. Jules' opinion was that he might not be much to look at, but that he could open a lift door. To-night, however, it seemed as if even this not very exacting feat was beyond his powers.
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