On my part, I am absolved
from my promised confession, and my lips shall remain locked.
That great, that exhilarating, that redoubtable wine, has--with the
nuptials of M. Sebillot's daughter--perished finally from earth.
I wonder what happened in Bergerac on that occasion, and if it had a
comparable apotheosis!
THE THREE NECKLACES.
"A great nation!" said the little Cure. "But yes, indeed, the
English are a very great nation. And now I have seen them at home!
But it passes expression, monsieur, what a traveller I find myself!"
We stood together on the deck of the steamer, watching--after an
eight hours' passage from Plymouth--the Breton coast as it loomed
out of the afternoon haze. Our crossing had been smooth, yet
sea-sickness had prostrated all his compatriots on board--five or six
priests, as many religieuses, and maybe a dozen peasants, whom I
supposed to be attached in some way to the service of the religious
orders the priests represented. (Of late years, since the French
Government expelled them, quite a number of these orders have found a
home in our West Country.) On my way to the docks that morning I had
overtaken and passed them straggling by twos and threes to the
steamer, the men in broad-brimmed hats with velvet ribbons, the women
coifed and bodiced after the fashion of their country, each group
shepherded by a priest; and I had noted how strange and almost
forlorn a figure they cut in the grey English streets.
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