Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 27, 2025
The girl turned her face to her mother, and smiled, then dropped her glance to the hands in her own lap, which were listlessly handling the end of a ribbon. The mother looked at her with fond solicitude. Her dress was white again; this was but one night since that in which Monsieur Vignevielle had seen her at the bush of night-jasmine.
"Madame," said Monsieur Vignevielle, "wad pud you bout so hearly dis morning?" She told him her errand. She asked if he thought she would find any thing. "Yez," he said, "it was possible a few lill' bécassines-de-mer, ou somezin' ligue. But fo' w'y you lill' gal lose doze hapetide?"
She sank, trembling, into her chair. "Oh, no, no," she continued, shaking her head, "'tis not Miché Vignevielle w'at's crezzie." Her eyes lighted with sudden fierceness. "'Tis dad law! Dad law is crezzie! Dad law is a fool!" A priest of less heart-wisdom might have replied that the law is the law; but Père Jerome saw that Madame Delphine was expecting this very response.
"Why do you not found hospitals and asylums at once," asked the attorney, at another time, with a vexed laugh, "and get the credit of it?" "And make the end worse than the beginning," said the banker, with a gentle smile, turning away to a desk of books. "Bah!" muttered Jean Thompson. Monsieur Vignevielle betrayed one very bad symptom. Wherever he went he seemed looking for somebody.
The crystal of the lamp sent out a faint gleam; it grew; it spread on every side; the ceiling, the walls lighted up; the crucifix, the furniture of the room came back into shape. "Maman!" cried Olive, with a tremor of consternation. "It is Miché Vignevielle, my daughter "
At the gate they paused an instant, and then parted with a simple adieu, she going home and he returning for his hat, and starting again upon his interrupted business. Before he came back to his own house, he stopped at the lodgings of Monsieur Vignevielle, but did not find him in. "Indeed," the servant at the door said, "he said he might not return for some days or weeks."
The crystal of the lamp sent out a faint gleam; it grew; it spread on every side; the ceiling, the walls lighted up; the crucifix, the furniture of the room came back into shape. "Maman!" cried Olive, with a tremor of consternation. "It is Miché Vignevielle, my daughter"
"Seems to enjoy it," said Jean Thompson; "the worst sort of evidence. If he showed distress of mind, it would not be so bad; but his calmness, ugly feature." The attorney had held his ground so long that he began really to believe it was tenable. By day, it is true, Monsieur Vignevielle was at his post in his quiet "bank."
"My darling, it is our blessed friend, Miché Vignevielle!" "To see me?" cried the girl. "Yes." "Oh, my mother, what have you done?" "Why, Olive, my child," exclaimed the little mother, bursting into tears, "do you forget it is Miché Vignevielle who has promised to protect you when I die?"
A shoe grated softly on the stone step, and Madame Delphine, her heart beating in great thuds, without waiting for a knock, opened the door, bowed low, and exclaimed in a soft perturbed voice: "Miché Vignevielle!" He entered, hat in hand, and with that almost noiseless tread which we have noticed.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking