Toujour jamais, toujour jamais;
Me lika banan’ as softa as silk,
Helas, cordon, by gar!
XXVII
’MIDST ARMED FOES
BY THE AUTHOR OF “DUNN TO DEATH; OR, THE WEATHER PROPHET’S FATE,” “SARAH THE SALES-WOM-LADY; OR, FROM COUNTER TO COUNTESS,” ETC.
Raoul Chevreuilly stood within a rude hut in the dark recesses of the forest of Fontainebleau. By his side stood his lady-love, the beautiful Perichole Perihelion. Without, the night was black and the wind roared as it is wont to do in stories of this type.
“Dost fear aught, my precious?” asked Raoul, gazing at the French face of the lovely Parisian.