Short stories of the tragedy and comedy of life with a critical preface . plomatists thesewomen are! We reached our destination in about an hour. Agreat dragoon with the figure of a Hercules wasstanding in front of the coach-office, waving a hand-kerchief as he saw the stage approaching. No soonerhad it stopped than the young woman sprang eagerlyinto his arms and kissed him twenty times at least,crying: You are well? How I have longed to see youagain. My trunk had already been taken out and I wasdiscreetly withdrawing, when she called to me: A REPULSE 57 **0h, Monsieur, you are not going witho
Short stories of the tragedy and comedy of life with a critical preface . plomatists thesewomen are! We reached our destination in about an hour. Agreat dragoon with the figure of a Hercules wasstanding in front of the coach-office, waving a hand-kerchief as he saw the stage approaching. No soonerhad it stopped than the young woman sprang eagerlyinto his arms and kissed him twenty times at least,crying: You are well? How I have longed to see youagain. My trunk had already been taken out and I wasdiscreetly withdrawing, when she called to me: A REPULSE 57 **0h, Monsieur, you are not going without wish-ing me good-bye! Madame, I murmured, I shall be intruding. Then she turned to her husband, Darling, dothank this gentleman. He has been charming to meduring the whole journey. He even offered me aplace in the stage which he had taken for himself. Ihave been most fortunate in meeting such a pleasantcompanion. Her husband held out his hand, and thanked mewarmly. The young woman looked at me for myself, I must have looked very cheap. THE CARTERS WENCH. HE driver, who had jumped from hisbox, was now walking slowly bythe side of his thin horses, wak-ing them up every moment by a cutof the whip or a coarse oath. Hepointed to the top of the hill, wherethe windows of a solitary house, al-though it was very late and quite dark,were shining like yellow lamps, and saidto me: \v^,i^-4x **One gets good liquor there, Monsieur and well served, by George! His eyes flashed in his thin, sunburned face,which was of a deep brickdust color, and hesmacked his lips Hke a drunkard, at the remembranceof a bottle of prime liquor that he has lately drawing himself up in his blouse he shiveredlike an ox, when it is sharply pricked with the goad.**Yes — well served by a wench who will turnyour head for you before you have tilted your elbowand drunk a glass! The moon was rising behind the snow-coveredmountain peaks, reddening them to blood with its(58)
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