Hardly was M. Leblanc seated, when he turned his eyes towards the pallets, which were empty. 'How is the poor little wounded girl? ' he inquired. 'Bad,' replied Jondrette with a heart-broken and grateful smile, 'very bad, my worthy sir.
Her elder sister has taken her to the Bourbe to have her hurt dressed. You will see them presently; they will be back immediately. ' 'Madame Fabantou seems to me to be better,' went on M.
Leblanc, casting his eyes on the eccentric costume of the Jondrette woman, as she stood between him and the door, as though already guarding the exit, and gazed at him in an attitude of menace and almost of combat. 'She is dying,' said Jondrette. 'But what do you expect, sir!
She has so much courage, that woman has! She’s not a woman, she’s an ox. ' The Jondrette, touched by his compliment, deprecated it with the affected airs of a flattered monster. 'You are always too good to me, Monsieur Jondrette! ' 'Jondrette! ' said M.
Leblanc, 'I thought your name was Fabantou? ' 'Fabantou, alias Jondrette! ' replied the husband hurriedly. 'An artistic sobriquet! ' And launching at his wife a shrug of the shoulders which M. Leblanc did not catch, he continued with an emphatic and caressing inflection of voice:— 'Ah!
we have had a happy life together, this poor darling and I! What would there be left for us if we had not that? We are so wretched, my respectable sir! We have arms, but there is no work! We have the will, no work!
I don’t know how the government arranges that, but, on my word of honor, sir, I am not Jacobin, sir, I am not a bousingot. 30 I don’t wish them any evil, but if I were the ministers, on my most sacred word, things would