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I comprehended that I could live on the roofs with an amazing creature who came from that country where the inhabitants consoled themselves for the victories of the greatest English general by these words: Malbrouk s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton, TON, TON, MIRONTAINE! Nevertheless I awakened my lord, told him how late it was, and suggested that we ought to go in.
Then, with an upward wave of his fingers, he spoke in a mocking lightness, but without any of the malice which had first appeared in his tones, words from an old French song: "I say no more, my lady Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! I say no more, my lady, As nought more can be said."
The rhythmic motion of them might have suggested, if there had been anybody present to observe, that his mind was running on the old river song. "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine." Beresford speaking, to an audience of one, who listened with soft dark eyes aglow and sparkling. "He's the best scout ever came over the border, Jessie.
"Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre Mironton, mironton, mirontaine," and "Isabeau s'y promene Le long de son jardin," chanted in the farmhouse or the lumber shanty, to the tunes which have come down from an unknown source, and never lost their echo in the hearts of the people. Our Ferdinand was a perfect fountain of music.
And each one fell upon his face And then rose up again. And so we sang the glories, For which great Malbrouck bled; Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine, Great Malbrouck, he is dead. "I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs. Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would make angels sorry a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleeping pain.
Then, with an upward wave of his fingers, he spoke in a mocking lightness, but without any of the malice which had first appeared in his tones, words from an old French song: "I say no more, my lady Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! I say no more, my lady, As nought more can be said."
Presently the violinist played a livelier tune and the habitants sang to the music: "Malbrouck, s'en va t-en guerre Mironton, mironton, mirontaine; Malbrouck s'en va t-en guerre Ne sait quand reviendra."
Hoping to make it appear that I hadn't noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and went on, intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse: "'Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! "I ended there; because Malbrouck's heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, and he said: 'If you please, not that song. "I suspect I acted like an idiot.
Such is the wonderful work that has given this alleged land of intelligence a case of literary mania a potu, set it to singing the praises of a grimy grisette more melodiously than she warbled, "mironton, mirontaine" at the bidding of the villainous Svengali.
What are you hanging around for? Get out!" Constable Beresford had his revenge. As he passed the window, Inspector MacLean heard him singing. The words that drifted to the commissioned office! were familiar. "Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre, Mironton-ton-ton, mirontaine." MacLean smiled at the irrepressible youngster. Like most people, he responded to the charm of Winthrop Beresford.
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