Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Finikin," added Fourchon, using a nickname which the abbe owed to his prim and rather puny appearance, "might be led into temptation and fall into the power of some sly girl, for he fasts so much. Then if we could catch him in the act and drum him up with a good charivari, the bishop would be obliged to send him elsewhere. It would please old Rigou devilish well.
"And do you really suppose that Les Aigues will be cut up and sold in lots for your pitiful benefit?" asked Fourchon. "Pshaw! haven't you discovered in the last thirty years that old Rigou has been sucking the marrow out of your bones that the middle-class folks are worse than the lords?
Charles looked at Pere Fourchon with naive admiration, not suspecting the eager interest the general's enemies took in slipping one more spy into the chateau. "The general ought to feel happy now," continued Fourchon; "the peasants are all quiet. What does he say? Is he satisfied with Sibilet?" "It is only Monsieur Michaud who finds fault with Sibilet. They say he'll get him sent away."
"We might go and get more where that came from, the rest of us." He was making a snare, and as he finished it the ferocious innkeeper happened to glance at his father-in-law's trousers, and there he spied a raised round spot which clearly defined a second five-franc piece. "Having become a capitalist I drink your health," said Pere Fourchon.
Clothed in rags like Fourchon, poor Courtecuisse, who lately wore the boots and gaiters of a huntsman, now thrust his feet into sabots and accused "the rich" of Les Aigues of having caused his destitution.
"Two or three times a week, with Monsieur Vermichel, who gives me a couple of sous to warn him if his wife's after them." "He's a fine old fellow, Pere Fourchon; knows a great deal and is full of good sense," said Rigou, paying for his lemonade and leaving the evil-smelling place when he saw Pere Socquard leading his horse round.
"Go round to the house by the gate of the Avonne while I put away the tackle," said Pere Fourchon to his attendant, "and when you have blabbed about the thing, they'll no doubt send after me to the Grand-I-Vert, where I am going for a drop of drink, for it makes one thirsty enough to wade in the water that way.
"Present, captain!" cried Fourchon, holding out a hand to Vermichel to help him up the steps. Of all Burgundian figures, Vermichel would have seemed to you the most Burgundian. The practitioner was not red, he was scarlet.
"Come, come, my good gentleman," cried Pere Fourchon to Blondet, jumping into the water and leaving his sabots on the bank, "frighten him! frighten him! Don't you see him? he is swimming fast your way!" The old man dashed toward Blondet through the water, calling out with the gravity that country people retain in the midst of their greatest excitements:
At the time when this history begins Tonsard, then about fifty years of age, tall and strong, rather stout than thin, with curly black hair, skin highly colored and marbled like a brick with purple blotches, yellow whites to the eyes, large ears with broad flaps, a muscular frame, encased, however, in flabby flesh, a retreating forehead, and a hanging lip, Tonsard, such as you see him, hid his real character under an external stupidity, lightened at times by a show of experience, which seemed all the more intelligent because he had acquired in the company of his father-in-law a sort of bantering talk, much affected by old Fourchon and Vermichel.
Word Of The Day