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Updated: June 10, 2025
I explained that I had placed them so high that they might not be disturbed by the noise and commotion which was pretty sure to be going on night and day in the lower part of the castle. "Trouble not yourself about that, Babache," cried Francezka, merrily; "Gaston and I are not in search of quiet, but gaiety.
"Babache, you are so damned ugly," he whispered. Was it strange I loved the boy who was so much himself in such circumstances, and would have given my right arm if that cursed lantern had not gone out? I said to him: "If you open your mouth again, I swear to leave you lying here on the ground; and you will probably die of that hole I made in you."
No human being, least of all a sensitive woman, could have endured what you have for so long without retaining some marks of it. So, although I am only Babache, a savage Tatar prince, the son of a poor notary in the Marais, yet, take my advice: be happy when you have achieved your heart's desire and trouble not yourself with old dogs or old Greeks, either."
They knew that a great honor for Count Saxe was impending, and by some strange logic, they persuaded themselves that they were entitled to share in it, and they looked upon me as a shoeing horn. I was "good Babache" to people I had never seen before.
"My candidate," said Count Saxe very impressively, "is Captain Babache" here he whacked me on the shoulder "a prince of the royal blood of Tatary, who can spell like any clerk, and write a better hand than any academician, living or dead, ever did." Monsieur Voltaire was a picture.
They seem to divine it all. This young girl had already mastered the whole art of managing the other sex, and she had scarcely passed her sixteenth birthday. She seemed to graduate her kindness by a novel rule. She was most sweet to me in words and looks, calling me her good Babache.
Old Peter and my good old Elizabeth, who is Peter's sister, managed to keep Gaston's presence a secret. We had one week of perfect happiness. How many of God's creatures, think you, can say as much?" "Few," I replied. "Certainly not Babache, captain of Uhlans." "The recollection of that week of happiness is a treasure that can not be taken away from me.
Majesty weeps that is to say, laughs until he cries. Count Saxe begs to be sent to the Bastille until the town is done laughing at him. Majesty cruelly refuses. Count Saxe threatens to kill himself, and goes and eats a couple of cold fowls. Epilogue: spoken by Babache in the character of Bombastes Furioso. Messieurs, you will see that I am a prophet."
"Do you know, Madame," said I, "that when one reaches the very heights of happiness near the blue heavens the least little speck of unhappiness is visible?" "True," replied Francezka, her somber eyes brightening. "To think, after what I have suffered for seven years that I let this trifle yes, Babache, your word was the right one give me one clouded moment.
You know, Babache, I have a faculty of fist fighting from my Scotch ancestor, and I never meant to degrade my good sword in a contest with a rogue like Jacques Haret. So, reaching over, I caught him by the collar, and gave him then and there the hardest beating I could. We fought all over the room, first in France, then in the Netherlands. Jacques Haret could make but a poor defense.
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