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Updated: June 11, 2025
Why is it that Praskovya is so anxious Nicolas should be mad? The woman will have it so, she will. Ce Maurice, or what's his name, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, brave homme tout de meme... but can it be for his sake, and after she wrote herself from Paris to cette pauvre amie?... Enfin, this Praskovya, as cette chere amie calls her, is a type.
Boisel, who was there in 1669, speaks of the city as "presque desert et fort pauvre." He mentions as a mark of the general unthrift that the day he arrived there was no bread in town until two o'clock in the afternoon, "and no one was astonished at it." Yet even in its poverty and rags it has the air of a town that has seen better days. Tradition says it was founded by Hercules.
It was Madame la Comtesse, who had come there to settle her husband's business with Madame Bertrand. Both looked up as the landlady came into the room, half carrying, half dragging Madelon. "Pauvre petite! pauvre petite!" she kept on saying, shaking and nodding her kind old head the while.
"I almost wish it had been!" whispered Chris; and then, her words scarcely audible, "But but do you think he knew?" "Le pauvre Cinders?" Very softly Bertrand spoke the dog's name. "No, Christine. He did not know. His head was turned the other way. His eyes regarded only you. And Mr. Mordaunt was so quiet, so steady. He aim his revolver quite straight, and his hand tremble no, not once.
"Minesse," he said with a catch in his voice that strongly resembled a sob, "Minesse, we mus' go hongry sometime. Ah, mon pauvre violon! Ah, mon Dieu, dey put us h'out, an' dey will not have us. Nev' min', we will sing anyhow." And drawing his bow across the strings, he sang in his thin, quavering voice, "Salut demeure, chaste et pure."
"Ah! le pauvre Picpon!" she said softly, as she reached at last the place where the young Chasseur lay, and lifted the black curls off his forehead.
...I am plunged with Maurice in Thucydides and company; with Solange in the indirect object and the agreement of the participle. Chopin plays on a poor Majorcan piano which reminds me of that of Bouffe in "Pauvre Jacques." I pass my nights generally in scrawling.
In a prominent place among the mourners is "LE PAUVRE PETIT Charles," so bowed with grief and remorse that he can scarcely be recognized. It was a telling sermon! If I had been a child I should never have looked at a match again; and old as I was, I could not, for days afterwards, regard a box of them without a shudder.
However, he got off with one or two brogues in a very safe place; and when Monsieur B explained how matters stood, and that the "pauvre diable," as the black Baron coolly called him, was a mere servant, and an uncultivated creature, and that no insult was meant, we had all a hearty laugh, and every thing rolled right again.
A la sante Madame Alston, is generally the first toast at every table I have been. Then we say some evil things of Mr. Alston. Encore, adieu. I will ask Saint A. to pray for thee too. I believe much in the efficacy of her prayers. Le pauvre A.B.A., I can find nothing here to send him. "Arrived at Nashville on the 6th August. Yes, about four hundred and fifty miles of wilderness.
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