I inquired for le Major Duquesnois, and I was told he was out for a
walk, and I soon found him, much aged and bent, and leaning on the arm
of a Sister of Charity. I was so touched that I had to pass him two or
three times before I could speak. He was so small--so pathetically small!
[Illustration: M. LE MAJOR.]
It was a long time before I could give him an idea of who I was--Gogo
Pasquier!
Then after a while he seemed to recall the past a little.
"Ha, ha! Gogo--gentil petit Gogo!--oui--oui--l'exercice? Portez ...
arrrmes! arrmes ... bras? Et Mimse? bonne petite Mimse! toujours mal
a la tete?"
He could just remember Madame Seraskier; and repeated her name several
times and said, "Ah! elle etait bien belle, Madame Seraskier!"
In the old days of fairy-tale telling, when he used to get tired and I
still wanted him to go on, he had arranged that if, in the course of the
story, he suddenly brought in the word "Cric," and I failed to
immediately answer "Crac," the story would be put off till our next walk
(to be continued in our next!) and he was so ingenious in the way he
brought in the terrible word that I often fell into the trap, and had to
forego my delight for that afternoon.
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