“Why did he wish it so?” Isidore mused a while.
“Who can tell? Perhaps a whim. He was a great actor—ah, yes, sublime!” he said.
Medallion did not reply, but walked slowly down to where P’tite Louison was picking berries. His hat was still off.
“Let me help you, Mademoiselle,” he said softly. And henceforth he was as foolish as her brothers.
THE LITTLE BELL OF HONOUR
“Sacre bapteme!”
“What did he say?” asked the Little Chemist, stepping from his doorway.
“He cursed his baptism,” answered tall Medallion, the English auctioneer, pushing his way farther into the crowd.
“Ah, the pitiful vaurien!” said the Little Chemist’s wife, shudderingly; for that was an oath not to be endured by any one who called the Church mother.