I suddenly thought of saying "Cric!" and he immediately said "Crac!" and
laughed in a touching, senile way--"Cric!--Crac! c'est bien ca!" and
then he became quite serious and said--
"Et la suite au prochain numero!"
After this he began to cough, and the good Sister said--
"Je crains que monsieur ne le fatigue un peu!"
So I had to bid him good-bye; and after I had squeezed and kissed his
hand, he made me a most courtly bow, as though I had been a
complete stranger.
I rushed away, tossing up my arms like a madman in my pity and sorrow
for my dear old friend, and my general regret and disenchantment. I
made for the Bois de Boulogne, there to find, instead of the old
rabbit-and-roebuck-haunted thickets and ferneries and impenetrable
growth, a huge artificial lake, with row-boats and skiffs, and a rockery
that would have held its own in Rosherville gardens. And on the way
thither, near the iron gates in the fortifications, whom should I meet
but one of my friends the couriers, on his way from St. Cloud to the
Tuileries! There he rode with his arms jogging up and down, and his low
glazed hat, and his immense jack-boots, just the same as ever, never
rising in his stirrups, as his horse trotted to the jingle of the sweet
little chime round its neck.
Pages:
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184