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Updated: May 9, 2025
"At two full leagues from Tournus," replied the postillion, spitting blood, "and at least four leagues from Macon." And, extending his arm towards the smoking chimney: "Up there, that village ought to be Vallars, but it's not up to much." "Blast you!" roared M. d'Anquetil. While the horses struggled we went near the carriage, which was lying sadly on its side.
If I should prolong my memoirs my narrative would very soon become tiresome. I'll bring it to a close with but few words. The Vicar of Vallars gave me a letter of introduction to a wine merchant at Macon, with whom I was employed for a couple of months, after which my father wrote to me that he had arranged my affair and that I was free to return to Paris.
The ascent was very rough, and I expected to fall at least four times with my living cross, on the stones of the path. At last the hill became easier. We entered a small lane bordered by bushes, and soon discovered on our left the first roofs of Vallars. We laid our burden softly on the turf, and for a moment took breath. Lifting up the abbe again, we carried him into the village.
The postboy thought it would be best to carry the wounded man to the village of Vallars, which was only half-a-league distant. "I'll go," he said, "to fetch the steadiest of the horses which remain. We'll tie the poor fellow securely on it, and lead it slowly ahead. I think him very ill.
His features took in death a majesty worthy of the genius that had animated him, and the loss of which will never be repaired. Funeral and Epitaph The Vicar of Vallars prepared a worthy funeral for M. Jerome Coignard. He chanted the death mass and gave the benediction.
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