The Count had listened to the story with all his ears, but evidently, from his imperfect knowledge of the English language, without half understanding it.
"Pauvre demoiselle! so she did a—a—a—what ye call dat, (making as if pitching headlong,) a—a—a—"
"Tumble!" ejaculated Jobson.
"Oui, oui, oui, toomball, toomball down de—down de roches—roches, pauvre demoiselle! did she se blesser?"
"She went down the torrent, Count, in her canoe and was dashed to death!" exclaimed little Annie Mapes.
"Oh, oh, pauvre demoiselle!" answered the Count, sorrowfully. "The lovaire did courir from her—ah—ah—pauvre demoiselle!"
"No, no, Count!" returned Annie impatiently, "her lover did not forsake her. She thought he was dead, and went in her canoe after his body!"
"Pauvre demoiselle! and did she trouver him?"
"No. She was killed, and her lover had been detained in the chase, and he came afterwards and found her dead, as Mr. Paddock has just said!"
"Oui, oui, oui, me understand, he try to run away and fall down—me understand—oui, oui, oui—me understand."