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The air she knew, and the voice she knew. The chanson was, "Le Voleur de grand Chemin!" The voice was her husband's. She knew the words, too; and even before she could hear them, they were fitting into the air: "Qui va la! There's some one in the orchard, There's a robber in the apple-trees; Qui va la! He is creeping through the doorway. Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t'-en!"
She did not notice how well he fitted in with everything about him; and he was so healthy that even three glasses of that cordial would have sent him reeling to bed. As she passed into the dining-room, the words of the song followed her: "Qui va la! If you please, I own the mansion, And this is my grandfather's gun! Qui va la! Now you're a dead man, robber Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t'-en!"
She did not notice how well he fitted in with everything about him; and he was so healthy that even three glasses of that cordial would have sent him reeling to bed. As she passed into the dining-room, the words of the song followed her: "Qui va la! If you please, I own the mansion, And this is my grandfather's gun! Qui va la! Now you're a dead man, robber Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t'-en!"
The air she knew, and the voice she knew. The chanson was, "Le Voleur de grand Chemin!" The voice was her husband's. She knew the words, too; and even before she could hear them, they were fitting into the air: "Qui va la! There's some one in the orchard, There's a robber in the apple-trees; Qui va la! He is creeping through the doorway. Ah, allez-vous-en! Va-t'-en!"
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