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She paused, and I supposed she was about to say something to me about Gaston, when she uttered these words which remain forever in my heart, which not one waking hour has failed to recall since she uttered them: "Babache, remember, when I am gone, that nobody in the world was ever so good a friend to me as you. I speak not of lovers Gaston was once my lover."
These last are defying their cruel old father, Winter, as they come out in spite of him, at first shyly, and then boldly, to be kissed by their lover, the sun. The lake remains always tragic; it never laughs nor even smiles, but is always sadly beautiful, like Niobe, poor, childless one. This is all for Captain Babache.
"Babache," continued Gaston in the meekest tone, "I swear to you, I can not now recall one thing I have done since we parted in the courtyard of the schloss at Mitau, that seems to me on reflection rash, or ill-considered. Listen and I believe you will agree that I am in no way to blame for what has come to pass."
I have heard Chambord called the castle built for intrigues, and for the "flying squadrons," as the gay ladies of the court were named. But whether this be true or not must be asked of some one better informed about Chambord than Captain Babache. By the first day of December all was ready, and on the evening of that day the king was to arrive, and also Francezka and Gaston Cheverny.
May they both get you!" "Thanks, Monsieur," replied Jacques Haret; "I am as God made me and He makes men different. As Monsieur Voltaire said of your Excellency, 'God has not seen fit to give wings to the donkey. God has not seen fit to make me like the founder of La Trappe. That is all." Count Saxe turned to me: "Get post-horses, Babache.
Then there was a shout, a brawl of laughter, that rang to the ceiling and made the girandoles dance. I think what made the company laugh so was the notion that I, Babache, captain of Uhlans, should measure my wit against Monsieur Voltaire's, and whether it were wit at all or not mattered little, for it served its purpose; it drove Monsieur Voltaire away from the supper table.
There is in every language I have known a great poem with this thought, common to all hearts that love, running through it, but I like this one of Houdart de La Motte's the best. When he had finished repeating the lines, with great beauty of voice and meaning, I asked him: "Did not Mademoiselle Capello send me a message?" "A thousand. Babache, Francezka loves you with all her heart.
"What has your brother to say to your going with us?" "He tried to dissuade me from going. I tried to persuade him into going. Regnard has more of that beggarly virtue of prudence than I. But, Babache, here is the devil to pay; my brother fell desperately in love with Mademoiselle Capello at first sight." "That is nothing," said I, unfeelingly.
I will say, however, it is pretty generally understood when Babache, captain of Count Saxe's body-guard of Uhlans, sometimes known as the Clear-the-way-boys, or the Storm-alongs, and also as the Devil's Own, is in the neighborhood, that Count Saxe is the greatest man that ever lived.
Now you are laughing, Babache, but remember, I am not incredulous like you French I am Scotch and Spanish " "But Gaston did not melt away. He grasped your hands and " Francezka again hid her face upon the dog's sleek head, and with her face so averted continued
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