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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

They made a fire in his
bedroom, which the sons and daughters tended with their own hands;
letters from France were looked for with scarce more eagerness by
himself than by these alien sympathisers; when they came, he would
read them aloud in the parlour to the assembled family, translating
as he went. The Colonel's English was elementary; his daughter not
in the least likely to be an amusing correspondent; and, as I
conceived these scenes in the parlour, I felt sure the interest
centred in the Colonel himself, and I thought I could feel in my
own heart that mixture of the ridiculous and the pathetic, the
contest of tears and laughter, which must have shaken the bosoms of
the family. Their kindness had continued till the end. It appears
they were privy to his flight, the camlet cloak had been lined
expressly for him, and he was the bearer of a letter from the
daughter of the house to his own daughter in Paris. The last
evening, when the time came to say good-night, it was tacitly known
to all that they were to look upon his face no more. He rose,
pleading fatigue, and turned to the daughter, who had been his
chief ally: 'You will permit me, my dear--to an old and very
unhappy soldier--and may God bless you for your goodness!' The
girl threw her arms about his neck and sobbed upon his bosom; the
lady of the house burst into tears; 'et je vous le jure, le pere se
mouchait!' quoth the Colonel, twisting his moustaches with a
cavalry air, and at the same time blinking the water from his eyes
at the mere recollection.


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